


Stained Glass

by alt_olive



Series: Stained Glass [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Abby, Dad!Kane, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Got a little Angsty why lie, Got a lot angsty, It doesn't rain forever, Kabby, Modern AU, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Wow Octavia and Abby are close in this one, this is totally a romantic drama now isn't it ... oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 159,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alt_olive/pseuds/alt_olive
Summary: Marcus Kane is the CEO of Ark Media Strategies -- and likes to keep his professional and personal world's separate. He's never without a plan and always has control. But when Clarke Griffin begins her internship at AMS, not only can't he break his curiosity of the mother Clarke lives to mention, but fate starts to weave Abby into his life. Allowing for her to guide him, and not the other way around.When a lost past shapes so much of Marcus's present, Abby slowly learns why Clarke was forced to sign a privacy form. And Marcus Kane finds himself changing as their time together moves forward. But Clarke can't be kept in the dark, and surely she won't let her mother believe she's living life in the sun either.A story inspired by all the Drama/RomCom's I've loved my whole life.Modern Kabby AU.





	1. Prologue: A Company Called AMS and Clarke

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: The build up is strong.

Clarke expected quiet, but she didn't expect complete silence when she walked into the nearly empty office at 7:50 a.m. "If you're late you're fired, if you're on time you're late, and if you're early you're on time," her mother’s voice whispered in her head. She had successfully drilled this motto into her daughter for absolutely every meeting, interview, class, or event in Clarke’s life. And Clarke lived by it. For all her twenty years. But how she craved to take a panoramic photo of the office lobby with her phone and send it to her mom saying, "If you're early ... YOU'RE ALONE."   

What was even sadder was the fact that she had waited copious amounts of time that morning flipping from app to app on her phone, with breakfast barely touched in front of her. She had planned it all out the night before. It took her twenty-five minutes give or take a long red light or two, to get from her house to the parking garage. Then it would take her ten minutes to walk from the parking garage to the office. If she wanted coffee from around the corner she'd give herself an extra fifteen minutes time. So she waited until seven o'clock on her barstool, even though she was ready by 6:45 a.m.

Her mother got called in that morning at 5 a.m., and had made her oatmeal that she could reheat. But at 6:30 a.m it was still left inside the pot -- and Clarke really didn't want to break it to her mother that she was twenty years old and if she wanted, she could definitely make the "one-minute" oats herself. But as Clarke always did, she let her mom take care of her. Because that's what Abby was good at. 

So Clarke sat and stared at the pot on the stove half full of oatmeal, with a cinnamon stick lazily left inside (her mother's scrappy but authentic addition) until she felt an inkling of a stomach growl. With that, she got up added milk and reheated the oats. With enough gone to make her mother believe she ate properly, and dumping the rest into a compost bin, she had looked at her watch and sighed, 6:45 a.m.

She opened up her email app for the fourth time, re-checking what time her and Jacapo Sinclair, the man who had interviewed her for the internship position, had decided would work best for her.

* * *

Hi Clarke,

So glad you've accepted our offer to start on Monday the 5th. The team is excited for you to join us this summer! Do you prefer to work mornings or afternoons?

Thank you,

Jacapo Sinclair

 

Jacapo Sinclair

Director, Digital Marketing

Ark Media Strategies

* * *

Hello Jacapo,

I'm excited as well! Mornings sound good to me!

Best,

Clarke Griffin

* * *

J _esus Clarke, you really have to chill with the exclamation points_ , she thought to herself before she continued reading.

* * *

Clarke,

Mornings are fine. The team usually flows in by 8 - 8:30 a.m. We have status meetings every Monday at 9 a.m. See you then!

Jacapo

* * *

Clarke had internally screamed because she wanted so badly to ask what any of that meant. Was she supposed to get there at 8? 8:15? Or dear God, exactly at 8:30? She wanted, no needed, clarification. Also, was she in the meeting? Was she supposed to pick up coffee for the people that were? And if she was, hadn't he all but sold her on the fact that she _wouldn’t_ be getting coffee and copying paper? 

Upon showing her mom the email, out of nervousness on her first real job, because let's face it, working the desk at one of the dorm buildings at Arkadia University was not labor intensive for the mind or body. She watched as her mom scrolled up to the beginning of their conversation and then down to the end, and then up, and then down, opening her mouth to say something, and then closing her mouth deciding to say nothing. None of which was helping Clarke who had big blue eyes actually wanting advice from her mother.

"For the first time in my life, I want you to speak of some adult wisdom, and I've broken you," Clarke groaned as her head hit their wooden dining table. She kept lifting it slightly and bumping it back against the mahogany, earning a swat from her mother across the back of her head.

"If you get there a little before 8, what's the worse that could happen?" Abby smiled at her, before placing a kiss on the back of her child's head. Clarke turned her face, leaving one cheek on the dining table, and returned a small smile back to her mom. "I'm proud of you, you know that?" Abby continued, "You found this internship on your own, applied on your own, and got it on your own. You are talented and they saw that honey."

"Mom I'm getting paid minimum wage, I'm limited to twenty hours a week, and they're not even paying for my parking garage tag," Clarke grumbled. 

At this, Abby laughed and then before walking out of the dining room she commented over her shoulder, "It could be worse. You could have interned at the State Capitol like Wells and got paid nothing."

A true statement.

Clarke _could_ have interned at the Capitol. But no, Clarke did not accept the offer as a public relations intern. Because number one, they do not pay any of their interns (as most political and nonprofit establishments do not), and number two, she felt it wasn’t right for her to take an internship position that she didn't even interview for. Wells couldn't escape his dad, but Clarke very much could. So she politely declined the offer verbatim at their monthly dinners. And then denied it again when Senator Jaha's secretary emailed her a week later.

Instead, she found a creative agency and consulting firm named one of Polis's "5 Rising Businesses To Watch" last year. However, they were only in need of an Operations Intern at the time, to which she internally groaned but forwarded the link to her friend Monty. She refreshed her university’s career portal the whole last month of the school semester and double refreshed all during finals week, until one day it popped up on her dashboard.

* * *

**Ark Media Strategies**

Graphic Design Intern

Work Hours: 20/wk

Hourly Wage: $7.25

You will be responsible for creating artwork to support the events, programming, and consulting at Ark Media Strategies. This usually takes the form of images displayed on TV screens and attached to Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram posts, avatars, logos, t-shirts, and fliers.

**Requirements**

  * You have impeccable time management skills, but you don’t get freaked out when things change at the last minute. Because they will. Roll with it.
  * You are excited to work in downtown Polis and have reliable transportation and parking.
  * You have a working smartphone and/or tablet.
  * You are experienced in Adobe Creative Suite. HTML and CSS experience are not necessary, but win you extra brownie points.



 Please send your resume and cover letter to jsinclair@arkmedia.com. PDFs are your friend, and grant you extra brownie points! We're all about those brownies.

* * *

So that's exactly what Clarke had done, and a week later she interviewed with Sinclair, and a week after that was offered the position at Ark Media Strategies. She was excited to work at the company that had been on the top of the list for every business student at Arkadia U to try and snag an internship at. She was also frightened, but knew that she did not want to be home or take summer courses.

What she wasn't expecting was a bare bones office, only open because the custodian had needed to refill their water coolers. She debated standing outside by the four elevators, but she knew that would look even weirder. However, she did take a photo of the big clear doors and the wooden panel that read Ark Media Strategies in an aluminum tint.

And then she sipped her coffee and relished in the hazelnut cream, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, at 8:20 a figure emerged from the elevators with headphones on and a tablet in hand. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she had a backpack slung over her left shoulder. 

Clarke tried to make herself look as busy and not agitated as possible. So naturally, she pulled out her phone and began to press random letters in an open message to her mom.

"Oh God, Sinclair told you 8 a.m. didn't he?" a voice asked her and her head snapped up. The girl was now standing in front of her, with her headphones wrapped around her neck. Clarke barely uttered a sound before she continued, "He likes to _think_ we get here before 8:30 every morning but do you see this office? Does it look like anyone is here?"

Clarke looks around the room with wide-eyes and then whispers back at the girl, "Well you're here and it's 8:22 ..."

The girl shuts her open mouth and then lets it turn into one of the slyest smirks Clarke has ever seen. "You're absolutely right intern, but I needed to fix one of our landing pages _before_ our status meeting. If not I'd be here at 8:45 ... like every other day. But I do not want to face the boss without fixing it first ..." her voice trails off as if she's replaying something else in her mind. Then her eyes snap up to meet Clarke, "You are the intern right? Please don't tell me you're a client - you look way too young to be a client."

"I - um," Clarke stutters. 

"CEOs get younger and younger man, I'm just saying people are really starting to take this 30 under 30 thing quite seriously now-"

"Raven! Will you leave our new intern alone please?" a voice calls as he enters the lobby. Clarke stands at the face she finally recognizes. Sinclair has his ear pods hanging from his shoulders and a leather laptop satchel lightly hitting his hip as he walks towards them. As he reaches them and says, "You better have that landing page fixed before-" 

"I know, I know," Raven throws her hands up and rolls her eyes, heading behind the wooden panel where Clarke assumes the rest of the desks are. "Don't want the boss man to give me the stare of death, even though he has me fixing a million other things," she finished as her body disappears.

Finally, Sinclair turns to Clarke and nods, "I'm glad you found your way. That was Raven, our web engineer -- except don't call her that -- she prefers, _developer_. C'mon let me show you around."

Sinclair takes the lead and Clarke observes everything in amazement. She knew the office would be pleasant enough for a working space, but what else could she expect? Certainly not this. Sinclair led her to a doorway to her right, still in front of the wooden panel that hid the team.

"This is our conference room, usually where both large and small team meetings are held, along with client meetings," Sinclair's voice is drowned out by the sound of Clarke's heart-beating as she takes in the white marble table that sits at least sixteen people. One of the long walls is a split up into a trio of a white board, a cork board, and a chalkboard. Whilst a large screen is set up at the end of the table, ready to present anything and everything.

And the other long wall to her left is made of brick in the warmest of colors. Several of their commissions are hung in all shapes and sizes framed with a black glass border. Clarke sees posters she's sure she's seen on billboards on the west side of town. She sees logos from authentic Polis brands. She doesn't get to finish staring because her feet have continued to move, following Sinclair out of the conference room, even though her eyes are glued to the wall.

He leads her then to an open work space, hidden behind the wooden panel. There's a mirror covering the whole wall to her right to make the room elongate, and yet even on that, there is little notes and jokes written on it with expo markers. She spots Raven with her headphones back on, typing away at the two screens in front of her.

"So, each table is split up by divisions," Sinclair begins to explain, "Engineering, Creative, Accounts, Digital, and Operations. Your space is here with Creative," he smiles at Clarke as they come to a spot on the second table from the left. She smiles and looks down at her sleek silver two screens, keyboard, and mouse. It's literally a normal desktop setup, but at the same time it's _her_ desktop setup. She sets her tote bag and coffee down and slowly realizes the tour isn't over.

Sinclair points to a small kitchen area at the end of the work space, "A lot of people usually bring lunch. Feel free to use anything like the Keurig or microwave, but please don't leave old food in the fridge. Just a heads up, don't use Echo's k-cups. Her initials are written in sharpie on each one," he states with an amused smirk as he pulls one from the revolving k-cup holder to show Clarke.

"Anyways, I'm sure you'll get accustomed to this space within a short amount of time," he says before he leads her down the one and only hall where all the lights are still turned off. As he flips a switch, at the beginning of the hallway, Clarke turns her head to see a young man rushing to take a seat at the front desk. His finger shakily trying to turn on the desktop, and he briefly makes eye contact with her before running to the bathroom near the elevators. He is tall with a thin frame, dark eyes, and fair skin.

"That was Jasper our receptionist," Sinclair shakes his head, "he's probably already behind on emails from this morning, but that's just because it's Monday and Kane gets up extra early each Monday."

 _Kane?_ Clarke thinks to herself. Then the image of a man in a thin black long sleeve sweater, looking off to his side with a wide smile, his chin held high, and a salt and pepper beard to match his jet black hair with properly pomaded waves, comes into her mind. Oh yeah, _that_ Kane, _Marcus Kane_ , the CEO of Ark Media Strategies. The face of AMS if you will. With every AMS google search, his face pops up in the images just as much as the logo.

Clarke is refocused when a whole new area gets brought to life at the end of the short hallway. This lobby was made to look much warmer than the other half of the floor. There were brown leather couches, a large rug that accented several golds, burnt oranges, and dark reds around the room. On the oak coffee tables, magazines varying audience type laid flat to be read. Clarke immediately spots another desk smack in the middle of this smaller lobby, right in front of another wooden panel, hiding well what ever she can't see from her standing angle.

Sinclair point to the offices adjacent to each other. Two on the left side of Clarke, and two on the right. "On this side, you have my office and what used to be Callie’s office," he points to the two doors on the left side, "and on that side, you have David and Indra’s office. I manage the Digital and Engineering team, Indra manages Operations, David manages Accounts. Callie managed Creative, which is your team, but since her departure, it is overseen mostly by me and Kane." 

Clarke nods slowly, absorbing all the information given to her in such a little amount of time, "so I'll be reporting to you then?"

Sinclair chuckles, as he walks into his office with Clarke on his heels, the light turning on as it senses movement, "Reporting sounds so formal, let's just go with _communicating_ ," he smiles at her, "and only for some projects. Like I said we've adjusted to splitting up tasks quite efficiently. I don't think however you'll be working on any major projects that involve Kane. He usually only works with the senior designers, due to time constraints."

Clarke continues to stare at him, trying her best not to look like a deer caught in the head lights. _So who does she update every day ... every week? Also, who was Callie? And why did she leave_? _And how long ago?_  Clarke tries to shut off her thoughts and focus on Sinclairs awaiting acknowledgment of a question she hadn't caught. Trying to save face she tentatively raises her eyebrow before he skips ahead, "Raven should have set up your email and desktop already," he states as he pulls out a post it with scribbled words on it and hands it to her, "your initial username is your email, but here’s your password -- you can change it, but just shoot Raven or me an email of what it is after you've customized it. We use a project management website to help us keep track of current work flows and future workflows, you also have an account with that, same username and password as this. It's quite simple. If you ever want a look at who's where and whatever time, everyone should have shared their calendars with you. Jasper should have shared the conference room calendar as well. If you have any questions, Jasper knows all, as he takes care of everyone's schedules, except Kane. I mean we all have access to Kane's calendar but it's nearly always full, and his first line of defense is Diana his secretary."

Sinclairs finger briefly points to a desk that is still empty, as Clarke checks her watch to find it's already 8:45 a.m. However, the other two offices have now lit up and Clarke spots a woman holding a serious face as she sets down her things and a large man with a briefcase laid hastily on his desk, sipping on coffee. A low hum of music flows from his office to her ears she thinks, _is he listening to instrumental music? Out loud? I appreciate the choice of the cello._

"So," Sinclair catches her attention, "how are we feeling?"

Clarke clutches the neon post it tightly in her fist, before nervously laughing, "Fine, good, I'm excited!"

"Great!" Sinclair claps his hands, "Settle in, and I'll see you at the status meeting."

"Sounds good," Clarke smiles before she walks out of his office and back to her desk. More people have filled in, and it's no longer so quiet that you could hear the air turn on. She passes by a woman who she believes is Echo, making coffee with the special k-cups, and tries to avoid eye contact. She walks by the Engineering table, that now has two extra bodies at it. Before someone chimes up, "Hey intern! Let's make sure your setup works!" 

Clarke turns to find Raven bouncing over to her desk with a smile.

"It's Clarke," Clarke mumbles before she can catch herself. Raven stops in front of her and raises an eyebrow, but Clarke doesn't look away.

"Okay," Raven nods, "Clarke, let's check to make sure everything is operational."

With this Clarke smiles and the next fifteen minutes fly by in a flash. She meets a few other workers. John Murphy, Digital Team. Echo is on Operations. Nate, is on the Accounts team, under his father -- not shocking Clarke even the slightest after she finds out. The mix of piano and cello coming from Nate's earphones gave him away. Niylah is on Creative with Clarke, along with Emori. And everyone after that is a blur.

Clarke was only one name they had to remember, and she had to remember all of them.

 

 


	2. A Meeting With Everyone And Marcus

When 9 a.m. rolled around and Clarke followed the herd of people piling into the conference room, each taking a seat at the table, she felt no more confident in her job then she did an hour ago. With a pen and small journal laid on the table, she sat quietly, observing every other person. Niylah and Emori set up pieces on a canvas holder. Raven typed away at her thin laptop, never once looking up at anyone. Indra, David, and Sinclair walked in together all holding small tablets in their hands and discussing amongst each other.

Then as if the clock hit midnight, and some magical spell was now over, a hush fell over the room. Clarke didn’t need to look up from her doodles, to sense Murphy tense up on her right, quickly shutting off his phone and sliding it in his pocket.

“Okay,” a deep voice Clarke had not heard before said, “where are we on the landing -”

“Up and running as of twenty-five minutes ago,” Raven answered with a cheeky grin, earning a suppressed eye roll from Sinclair.

“Great,” the voice said and it took Clarke utterly too much time to connect the sound of a man speaking to the CEO with a mug of steaming coffee in front of him, glasses on the tip of his nose, and a laptop open at his hands. He wasn’t even looking at them when he spoke. He spoke as he was typing. Was he typing what he spoke? Did they have _any_ correlation to each other? Clarke wondered.

Without looking up he continues, "Murphy run a diagnostic to check how badly our data was affected by the fifteen hour outage."

Murphy leans forward and lightly hits the table, "Already did that, it should be done processing by the time this meeting ends." Clarke doesn't really know this boy, but she really wants to slap the stupid smile on his face off.

"I love when you know what I'm going to ask," Kane nods without much emotion in his voice, "makes my job easier."

 _Does he ever stop typing?_ Clarke asks in her head.

"Moving on," he continues and she swears his head lifts for half a second before he types a few more strokes and then that's when she sees him, for real this time. He has slight bags under his eyes, and wait has he been wearing that band t-shirt this whole time? Is that appropriate work wear?  Can Clarke never wear these ballerina flats her mom lended her again? She takes a subtle peek underneath the table to find Raven is in Nike Air Max's, Murphy has on Adidas, BUT Echo has on gladiator sandals, and Niylah is wearing small block heels.

"Let's see where concepting has gotten us on the EcoJug project," Kane states, and Clarke tries hard not to stare at his dark eyelashes as they blink rather slowly. He has yet to make eye contact with her, and this frustrates her ego just a bit, shouldn't he want to see the face of the newbie?

Niylah and Emori stand from their position and walk over to the canvases to show off their work. Clarke is both confused and impressed. One board is simply a large mood board, with different pictures and elements. Another board displays several promotional photos, with the EcoJug logo placed differently on each one. After Emori carefully explains what the heck is going on in the mood board, Kane stays silent. As does the room.

"Let's focus on _any_ _recreational_ activity, not just gym buffs or extreme fitness. Any recreational activity, like beach volleyball, hiking, running, cycling, yoga, walking your fucking dog. Get me?"

"There's your catchphrase," Sinclair chuckles, "EcoJug, go walk your fucking dog."

The whole conference room breaks out into a fit of laughter, as does Clarke.

"Walk your fucking dog, _without_ killing our planet," Kane adds, his smile still pulling at both ends of his mouth. Emori and Niylah take a seat, and the meeting continues. They talk about current account issues, account prospects, and account inquiries. They discuss where teams have landed on certain projects, and they add and move and delete deadlines. Clarke’s head is ready to explode with information, she can't possibly know is useful to her or not.

"So," Kane states in calm voice after a lively conversation has just ended, and people have begun closing their notebooks and shutting off their tablets, a sign that the meeting is coming to an end. "I was going to send a formal memo, letting everyone know that Diana will not be returning." A tense silence falls over the room, "But everyone I need to inform is here, and I'd rather just get this out and be done with it. In an email, Diana very clearly voiced her distaste for myself and acknowledged her lack of ability to keep up with my schedule."

Kane pauses, and the room watches him with focused eyes, "Now, imagine actually being me," he jokes and the rest laugh. "So for the time being I'll quickly have to find a replacement. Directors if you don't mind staying a couple of minutes after so we can talk about this in more detail."

"Did she give any prior notice?" Raven asks without a second thought, and Clarke swear Sinclairs eyes close from exasperation.

"No, I got an email at 8:00 this morning and that was it," Kane answers.

_So this Callie person "departed" ... Diana quit ... oh, Clarke what have you gotten yourself into?_

Clarke has forgotten about herself completely that when Sinclair speaks up and says her name she's caught off guard. Once again missing the beginning the sentence he started. So she simply smiles at all the eyes on her. Including CEO Marcus Kane's.

"Want to briefly introduce yourself?" Sinclair smiles tentatively, and Clarke fully understands what has just happened. So she nods so quickly that she physically feels her brain shaking rapidly against her cranium.

"My name's Clarke Griffin," she begins trying her best to avoid any and all eyes on her, "I'm going to be a senior at Arkadia University, and I'm a graphic design major."

"Ugh too formal, tell us about _you_ or a fun fact!" Raven interjects, and Clarke bites her lip because she's always bad at those questions. That's why she hates ice breakers so much.

Her mind jitterz around and for some reason she can't get her mom's face out of her head. Her mom is the spectacular one. Her mom is the one who has done amazing things in her life. It then occurs to Clarke that she does not like talking about herself very much, but she likes talking about her family.

"I um," she fidgets with her pen, "I'm an only child. I've lived in TonDC my whole life, except for when I was small we lived in MonReal. I'm the daughter of a pediatric surgeon, and we have a golden retriever named Wilson." She makes eye contact with soft smiles and feels a bit more comfortable, "We swear he still thinks in French since we got him in MonReal."

This gets laughter from everyone, except Kane who just smiles and she watches his fingers tap against the top of his laptop.

“Can you speak French?” Raven asks.

“Je me pel Clarke,” she smiles, “that’s all I remember. My mom knows a bit more than me. My dad was the one that spoke fluently.”

"So do you live at home and commute to school every day? That's at least an hour," Murphy asks her, jumping to an entirely different part of the conversation.

Her eyes leave Kane's fingers and she looks at Murphy, "No, I live in the school dorms during the fall and spring semesters."

They all nod and she feels the need to continue. Isn't that what always happens with strangers? They're the ones you open up to the most. That's why she hates getting her nails done. The nail technician always asks something so simple like, "Do you like your school?" Definitely, a yes or no, or short answer. And yet, one time Clarke went off for ten minutes on how awful her first dorm mate was. 

"Mom hates being alone but she wanted me to get the full experience." She sees everyone's eyes downcast at the _want_ to ask _the_ question. But no one ever pries. So she tries to make up for it, "But, I mean she has Wilson, and I go home every other weekend. Plus, she stays busy, being a pediatrics doctor and all."

Her eyes are trying really hard not to look at the continuous tapping of Kane's fingers on the thin metal of his laptop.

"She ever bust your ass because you didn't want to go into the medical field?" Raven asks, and _everyone_ turns to her and groans.

Clarke laughs, "Well when you think about it, we both use our hands in a meticulous way. Maybe, I got it from her."

Kane's fingers stop tapping on the laptop, and Clarke tries her best not to look like she just let go of the longest breath of her life.

Sinclair saves her from more questions and says, "Well we're happy to have you." Everyone agrees and she follows the herd, except for the straggling directors, out the back door. It's only when she sits at her desk that she realizes, she wasn't assigned _anything._


	3. A Lunch In Polis And A Proposition

So Clarke sets up her email and personalizes absolutely everything she can personalize. The background, her signature, the display preference. ALL OF IT.

She refreshes and refreshes her inbox, and suddenly lights up when she sees: 

**Inbox (1)**

It's from Sinclair.

* * *

Hey Clarke,

Meet in my office at 11:15.

Thanks,

Jacapo

* * *

 

Should she reply to this? Is it worth an "will do!" ?

_Get. It. Together. Clarke._

She decides against it, and watches the clock tick until it hits 11:14 and she makes her way, notebook and pen in hand, towards the area with all the offices. She hears her heartbeat in her head, and attempts to calm her blood pressure. _Quit it Clarke, you're just getting a project. Chill the fuck out._

She sees Sinclair on his office phone as she approaches his open door. He holds one finger up as his eyes meet hers. He tells the person on the other line a thank you before he hangs it up, and Clarke walks in slowly. She apprehensively takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

He pays her his undivided attention, and she feels slightly out of her comfort zone under his stare.

"How's it going?" he asks in a sincere voice. And she wants to yell at him that she hasn't done anything! But instead she nods her head and says "good."

"I'm glad," he continues, "so an exciting opportunity has popped up."

Clarke smiles, wide. 

"How would you like to work full-time for fifteen dollars an hour?" he asks straightforwardly and she tries to hide the hitch of breath that escapes her throat, masking it as a small cough. 

"I mean," she murmurs, "obviously I would love to."

"Great!" Sinclair smiles and then she sees his eyes leave her for the briefest of seconds, mentally preparing himself for the next part, "except it won't be as our graphic design intern."

"Excuse me?" Clarke asks quietly. 

"Well we'd give you a few projects surely, your talent is hard to pass up. But given some time constraints, you won't be receiving the original full load of creative projects." 

Clarke's eyebrows crunch in, "But I'll be working longer hours I don't understand?"

"We'd like you to take over Diana's position until the end of summer," he states bluntly and Clarke's eyes immediately dart out his office window and to the wall hiding the CEO.

"Diana?" Clarke asks, "Kane's secretary who couldn't handle his schedule. A grown adult woman. And you're asking me?"

Sinclair smiles, "We believe you can do it."

"No offense sir," she whispers and she can hear her mom telling her to shutup in her head but she proceeds, "you don't even know me."

This makes Sinclair laugh, and nod his head.

"How about this. Kane wants to meet with you for lunch, and then you can tell us your decision after?"

Clarke nods, prematurely approving.

"Okay, meet him in this small lobby at 12," Sinclair states before his phone rings, and Clarke finds herself rushing to the bathroom to breathe. Or hyperventilate?

* * *

 

She grabbed the edge of the marble sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her fingers are itching to call her mom, and ask what she should do. But instead she breathes in deeply, _it’s just lunch_ , she tells herself, _and you can say no_. _What the heck is going on?_ Clarke thought to herself. _I don't want to be a secretary! But it is for AMS ... Marcus Kane knows a lot of people. A lot. A lot. You need a job straight out of university Clarke. Unless you get roped into the Peace Corps or something ... which is still a viable option. It's your first day, you can say no and just leave and find another internship. There's always the Capitol ... ugh, no. NO!_

Clarke shook her head and pushed her body off the marble counter, exiting the restroom. Immediately a figure was walking straight at her.

"Hey Clarke, Kane's looking for you!" Raven says as she walks passed her to the restroom.

"Okay, thanks!" Clarke smiled nervously before she opened the glass doors to the office. She turned the corner of the wooden panel and briefly halted when she saw Kane leaning against her empty desk texting away on his phone. _Do these man's fingers ever stop, I don't know, moving?_ She lifted her wrist and her watch let her know it was 11:55. If _you're early you're on time,_ her mothers' voice rang through her head.

As she approached her desk, Kane looked up from his phone and nodded at her before putting it in his back pocket. Clarke immediately noticed that he did not smile at her. _Isn't that like the universal way to acknowledge you don't hate the human being approaching you?_

"Let me just grab my phone and wallet," Clarke murmured bending down and reaching into her backpack.

Kane gruffed something that sounded like an okay, and Clarke suppressed the want to scrunch her face in distaste, but as she rose again with her belongings in hand she realized he was now answering a phone call.

"You left them where?" he asked the person on the other line, his back was now turned away from Clarke, but completely failing to hide his conversation even a fraction of a decibel.

"No, I have a long lunch today I can stop by the store here downtown," he tells them, and then to Clarke's surprise turns towards her and motions with his head to follow him. He begins walking towards the front of the office, and she looks to see if anyone will care or notice she's leaving with him. But everyone minds their own business.

Clarke falls into step next to him, and she can't help but eavesdrop some more.

"What brand? Okay, and white, small?" he asks, "You're sure you're not missing _anything_ else? Okay. Do you want me to call the hotel we stayed at to see if they found the other on- oh you think you left them at the convention center? Yeah, they probably threw them away."

Clarke tries to figure out who in the world he's talking to. She remembers not finding any social media presence of Marcus Kane online. The only thing the interwebs had of him aside from business articles and profiles was his LinkedIn, and biography on the company website. _Hotel? Convention center? Was it his partner? Children?_ Clarke tried hard not to laugh at the idea of this man being a dad. It just seemed incredulous to her. _He works ALL THE TIME_. _How would he possibly have time for family?_

 _"_ I'll leave work early to make sure you get them on time. It's fine, don't worry. Okay, bye, love you."

He doesn't look at Clarke while he skims his text messages briefly before once again putting his phone back away in his pocket. She then notices that they are walking down one of the main streets in downtown.

"Sorry, we just have to stop by Polis Locker Room, I need to pick up knee pads," he tells her as they cross one of the cross walks, "It's only a few blocks from here."

"It's fine," she tells him as she tries not to look at her surroundings with complete astonishment. MonReal was a big city, but she remembers living in the suburbs, while her dad and mom spent more time downtown. They did take her to the port more than a few times. It was one of their favorite places. TonDC was small town heaven, and that means no skyscrapers, no big highways, and no taxi cabs. Polis was a big city. One she did not explore as much as she wanted to. Her mom of course worked in Polis, but they hardly made trips into the city because she knew how much her mom wanted to escape the traffic and hustle and bustle after work. But Clarke _loved_ it, and she wanted an apartment right in the middle. 

Traffic had slowed at one of the lights, but the orange hand telling them they weren't allowed to walk yet was still on. However, Kane started crossing the street without much of a glance at her, and Clarke looked for any immediate danger. The closest car was a light away, so she jogged a bit to catch up to the man who had successfully J-walked not even thinking about the consequences. In retrospect, how unlike her mom that was, made Clarke like Kane just a little smidge.

Then she saw the corner department store, filled to the brim with athletic wear appear in front of her. He opened the door for her to walk through before him, and she smiled before coming to a halt at the different sections available to them.

"Do you see volleyball anywhere?" he asks her as they try to decipher all the different signs, and honestly the logistics of the place were a mess.

"I um-" Clarke starts, "we can try the section with all sports equipment. I don't think they'll be with the apparel or the shoes," she begins to walk towards the wall on the far left. He follows her until she sees a small aisle with volleyballs, knee pads, skids, and crew cut socks. She proudly turns to him, and motions at the knee pads, slowly taking a step back so he can choose whichever he needs. Trying to busy herself while he looks at the section, snapping pictures with his phone, and texting who she can only assume the knee pads are for.

He grabs white small Mizuno knee pads and turns to Clarke who has taken an interest in neon yellow Mizuno crew socks.

"Do you think a fifteen-year-old girl would like those?" he asks her and Clarke almost drops the product in her hand.

"Well I mean, I like them," she shrugs, "but aside from one youth soccer team as a child, I've never played a sport in my life."

He nods and then points behind her, "Take the teal ones too."

Clarke plucks one of the teal socks from their place and does not miss the fact that he _did not_ ask her to choose the only two color choices left after that -- neon pink and hot pink.

They pay and begin a walk to a destination Clarke does not know of, and the nervousness has died down within her. She simply enjoys the silence between both of them, the noise of a rolling train nearby, cars roaming from here to there, and then her phone rings.

She takes it out from her bag and it reads in big letters "MOTHER".

"You should take that," a voice tells her, and she guesses it's okay that he's snooping on her phone since she eavesdropped on his call earlier. Reluctantly, she flicks her eyes back at Kane and then slides the phone to answer.

"Hi, mom," she says quietly.

"Hi, honey, I know it's your first day but want me to pick you up to have lunch?"

"I can't," she answers her. 

"What do you mean you can't? Don't you get a lunch?" Abby's voice asks in a hard tone.

"Yes I get a lunch mother," she rolls her eyes and doesn't miss Kane smirking to himself, clearly enjoying their banter, "But, I'm already on my way to lunch," she tells her.

"With who?!" Abby almost yells into the phone and Clarke switches the phone to the other ear, as Kane continues to lead them in whatever direction the place they're having food is at.

"My boss. I love you too, bye mom!" she quickly cheers and then ends the phone call, putting it on do not disturb, and safely away in her purse.

"Here we are," Kane says as they approach a restaurant called _Lana's_. It has outdoor patio seating, with a walk up window to order coffee, and then indoor seating as well.

"They have a little of everything, and coffee if you want."

Clarke follows suit inside the restaurant and immediately takes a mental note of the place, so she can bring her mother back. There's a large wooden piano towards the back, in front of a huge window. She sees doors that lead to an outdoor patio area. The bar showcases old records and speakers as it does a wide selection of alcohol. But her favorite part is the old airplane walls that have been mantled above the booth seating. They used to be the shell of the plane, but the small windows have been replaced with mirrors. It's rustic and new all at once, and Clarke refrains from taking pictures with her iPhone, she can do that with her mom.

Kane takes a seat at a small two person table, and Clarke opts for the booth seating. There's a small candle lit in the middle between the both of them, but it's in a glass casing that makes it look like a small chandelier. And dear God is that 90s music in the background? _Who is this guy?_ Clarke thinks.

A waitress approaches them and asks what they would like to drink, and then hands them the menus.

"I'll have a water," he says and looks at Clarke.

"Water as well, thank you," she smiles and begins her search for a good meal on the menu, as the waitress makes herself scarce. They both sit in silence with _Bittersweet Symphony_ playing in the background, and Clarke knows every single lyric because of her mom. She fails to realize she's singing it lowly until Kane speaks up bemused.

"How old were you when this came out?"

"Probably not old enough, but it's one of my mom's favorites," she tells him, her eyes never leaving the menu.

"The Verve is a band she likes?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Clarke chuckles, "she likes _this_ song." She states as she places her menu down, deciding on the chicken avocado sandwich. "But from the 90s, I can't even tell you who her favorite artists are, she likes way too many. I could list like ten and that wouldn't even be half her list."

"Does it pain you to listen to them?" he asks not once picking up the menu.

"No," she answers immediately, "my fondest and earliest memory is being in the car with my mom singing from one of the many CDs she had on her sun visor."

"You sure do have a strong relationship with your mom," he comments.

"Oh sorry," she blushes looking down at her hands, "it's just easy to talk about her is all."

"It's fine," and her eyes rise fast enough to see a small smile tug at his lips. The waitress returns with their drinks and takes Clarke's order, and Kane orders the meatball sandwich.

"So what was your initial thought on our proposal?" he asks her, and she feels a knot begin in her throat. Clarke fears any reaction will be the _wrong_ reaction, so she plays with paper from the straw wrapping. For the amount of time she's been near this man, she still feels like she really doesn't know what he looks like. It's like she's been so afraid to make eye contact, that she's avoided looking at him at all.

"I think no," she murmurs and looks up to find his dark eyes analyzing her intently, he doesn't speak before she proceeds to explain quickly, "I know the company, or _you,"_ she lightly lifts her finger to point at him, "are in need of a secretary but I don't feel like I'd be a good fit for that."

"And why is that?" he asks her without malice.

Clarke hesitates before answering, knowing she may be fired altogether, "Because I studied - am studying - graphic design and I was under the impression that _that_ was what I'd be doing. I love your company, Mr. Kane-"

"Call me Marcus," he interrupts her and it takes a moment for her to gather herself before continuing.

"I love AMS ... Marcus," she gulps, "and the offer of the wage and hours is extremely ideal. But ... but -" her eyes fall once again.

"What do you fear Clarke?" he asks, and she hates herself for being a babbling college kid who lacks clarity in so many ways. So she just decides to ditch her filter and tell him the truth.

"I need a job after college," her voice is rough, "a good one, away from TonDC, here in the city preferably," her arms gesture to the scenery around them, "and having a secretary job over an internship that actually applies to my field, I don't think would benefit me."

She watches as he leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other, and his arms in front of his chest, "I see."

Clarke nods, waiting for him to continue because she has nothing more to say. _Why did this Diana chick have to quit? I could've had a project by now._ _Maybe_.

"I think you're looking at this wrong," he states and her head whips up.

"Excuse me?" she questions.

"I said," he straightens up in his chair before leaning forward, "I think you're looking at this wrong. You said you love my company, and I'm not being egotistic, but you're not the only one. That's a fact. Ask me how many students applied for our graphic design internship."

Clarke stays silent, as her eyebrows knit in, not enjoying his condescending tone that completely overtook the mostly enjoyable time she was having.

"Come on, ask me," he states again and takes a sip of his water.

"How many people applied-" she begins but doesn't even get to finish her sentence.

"Two hundred and sixty-five," he tells her as he chews on an ice cube, "and that's just the in-state applicants. We don’t accept most applications from out of state. And from those two hundred and sixty-five students, your artwork made it to the top. Your portfolio was my favorite, and I'm not just saying that because you're in front of me."

"You looked at my portfolio?" Clarke asks in amazement, she didn't think the CEO would look at the work of a possible intern. Maybe Sinclair or that Callie girl, but Marcus Kane?

"I looked at the top fifteen yes," he answers her, "but the one titled ah, what was it, it had a different style than the rest, with the silhouettes."

"May We Meet Again," Clarke answered him softly, knowing very well which art work he was thinking of. The background was the town square in TonDC, and the two silhouettes sitting on one of the tree swings near the gazebo were her parents. Everything around them was made with color, but the two adults were merely a mix of different shades of black.

"Yes that one," he nodded, "it showed talent. And it meant something to you. You could tell from the different mediums and strokes you put into it. That piece made me choose you, Clarke."

She blinked back the tears beginning to form in her eyes, from receiving compliments on one of her most beloved artwork, "Thank you," was all she could say.

"We're not completely stripping you of your graphic design projects Clarke," he began again, "you will be able to contribute to consultant work, but you will also be my right-hand woman. Do you know how many students would kill for this job _over_ a regular internship?"

Clarke began to think about the job in overview. She would be working at one of the hottest companies in Polis, for one of Forbes CEOs to watch, not only as an intern but also his secretary. _This definitely means you're getting coffee, Clarke_.

"I will be honest," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "it won't be easy because my life is often very time strenuous. But if your main concern is finding a job in Polis after college, then imagine what one call from me, can do for you."

Clarke opened her mouth to continue objecting out of stubbornness, but she closed it. Even if that proposal did sound self-centered, he wasn't wrong. But a question had nagged at her the whole time since Sinclair had asked her to think about it.

"Why are you even bothering me with this? Why ask an intern to be the secretary of well _you?_ Don't you want an actual adult?"

"Just because someone is considered _an actual adult,_ does not mean they can do what I ask of them properly. You seem to be more aware of yourself than most students your age, and from your resume and general conversation we've had, I don't hate talking to you. And we'll be talking a lot, so," he ends the conversation with a shrug.

"And it'll be cheaper to employ me at fifteen dollars an hour as an intern without benefits, like a retirement package, or health care, than hiring an actual person on salary," she crossed her arms to mirror him from earlier, even though her eyes were playful. Finally, Clarke was satisfied when his mouth turned into a wide smile.

"See I knew I liked you for a reason," Kane laughed as the waiter approached with their food. As Clarke hungrily eyed her sandwich, and the waiter left Kane's plate in front of him as well, before leaving to help another table. "So what do you say?" he asks before taking a fry and throwing it in his mouth.

Clarke dips her fry in ranch before looking up at him, "Fine, but when my internship is up and I graduate, you owe me a personal call to each of the companies I apply to."

His eyebrow raises and then narrows in, "I will call your top five, _assuming_ you do a good job. Don't get greedy Clarke."

She evaluates his proposition, "Okay, a phone call to my top five hopeful employers. But, I want a parking pass for our garage, because twelve dollars a day to park at where I work is outrageous."

Kane chuckled before lifting up his fry to her, "Fine, I'll get Jasper to order you a parking permit. Deal?"

Clarke lifts her fry dipped in ranch at him, "Deal."

As they both chew on their fry of choice, he speaks up, "Someone enjoyed their negotiating class at ArkU."

At this, Clarke makes a sound while rolling her eyes "P _fffttdddd_ , as if! It's called being my mother's daughter."

Kane fights back a smirk as he tells her one more thing before biting into his sub, "Ah, well you have much to learn little Griffin. I would've also asked to be financially reimbursed while you wait for the parking permit. But alas, you did not."

Clarke's next fry falls from her fingers, "See you're learning something new already," he mumbles with a mouth full.

 

 


	4. A Month Of Chasing And A Middle Man Named Clarke

When Clarke pulls into her driveway later that day, she almost wants to ram the front of her car into the garage. Her head ached, and no amount of coffee would beat just how exhausted she was. Orientation as an intern was one thing. Orientation as Marcus Kane's secretary had her brain on fire.

She was trained by Jasper on how to use the office phone at her new desk, along with the email server and calendar. She was now in charge of Kane's calendar, and means of travel to and from his meetings both local and out of the area. She was in charge of memos and making sure he received any and every memo. Not only was she in charge of his business life, she was now going to be fully integrated into his personal life. Which she learned fairly quickly, was very private and very separate from his professional life.

"I have three lives, Clarke," he had told her as she sat in his large office, with a view of downtown, "Personal, public, and professional. I don't take personal calls on the office phone. Which hardly ever happens anyway, my daughter calls my cell phone not the office."

And that's when Clarke learns he for sure _is_ a dad. But the lack of a wedding ring still leaves her curious, and now with even more questions.

"And by no means do you ever answer any phone calls from this number," he states as he hands her a post it with an out of country number. _Wife's number maybe?_ Clarke thinks. _Ex-wife probably?_

"Got it," Clarke nodded, "I will not answer any phone calls from this number."

"My public life is dictated and shaped with what I share during interviews. People do not need to know about my personal life to know what I am doing here at AMS. So, you are going to need to sign a form holding you accountable to never repeat or disclose any personal information you learn about me while working here. Jasper will get the form to you by end of day and you will sign it before you leave."

It finally dawned on Clarke, that this was a big deal. She'd signed a legal privacy policy form, that if broken, she could be sued for a lot of money.

Then without warning, the rest of day went in full swing. Once she turned on her computer and cleared out the voicemails left just from that morning. Making sure to take note of new meetings, updates, and inquiries. It never stopped. If she wasn't replying to an email, she was answering the phone or letting Marcus know his car was waiting for him, or that someone was on the line and ready to speak to him. Once five o'clock rolled around, she just wanted to lie in bed and sleep. She didn't even want to eat, she didn't want to explain to her mom what happened, she didn't want to answer a million questions, she just wanted to sleep.

Just as she's hitting her head on her steering wheel, asking herself why she said yes to this job, a car pulls up next to hers in the driveway. _Oh my god it's real, I have a real person job, I'm getting home at the same time as my mother_.

Clarke turns off the engine, grabs her stuff and steps out of the car.

"Are you just getting home?" Abby asks as she follows Clarke up the porch stairs and through their front door. Wilson lazily greets them, by roaming around and through their legs.

"Yes," Clarke answers as she lets go of her tote at the threshold, quickly bending down to caress Wilson's golden fur with her hands as he nuzzles her face.

"I thought you only worked until two o 'clock?" her mom inquired also leaving her bags by the front door table. Clarke stands and Wilson patiently waits for Abby to hug him as well. Abby bends down to run her fingers over his head and on his back, “Ça va, Wilson?” she tells him and he barks.

"Not anymore," Clarke called over her shoulder, as she made her way up the stairs to her room.

"What do you mean not anymore? Clarke stop walking! Come down here and tell me what's going on," Abby says getting up, and Wilson roams to the living room clearly not wanting to be apart of _that_ conversation.

Clarke quickly realizes she cannot outrun her mother, and that the questions will continue to come so long as she prolongs the eventual conversation about her new position at AMS. So she decides to get everything out of the way now, and turns around, dragging her body down the half flight of steps and to their cozy living room.  Abby follows her, still in her pencil skirt and maroon dress top from her afternoon meeting, but she kicks off her heels as she sits down on the soft couch.

Wilson has made himself comfortable under the light of a soft lamp in the corner of the room. His head rests on his paws, as his eyes lazily look up at the two of them. Abby remembers thinking what a defective golden retriever he was, because he was clearly not as energetic as the rest of the puppies when they had adopted him. Her and Jake had decided: dog and then child. Unfortunately, they did not think the time between the two would be so short.

"I don't know how you wear a ponytail all day, I'd have a headache within the first hour," Clarke comments as her mom rolls her eyes.

"So what's going on?" Abby asks softly, and Clarke begins the story at the beginning of the day.

Her mom doesn't make any comments or facial expressions. She merely listens and nods her head every so often. Clarke almost prefers the badgering questions over this silent mom.

"And I'm dead inside," Clarke finishes her story, as her head falls back against the soft plush of the couch.

Abby chuckles, and Clarke raises her eyebrow, "That's all I get, a laugh? You pester me with questions, and now I amuse you? Aren't you mad that I didn't consult you before saying yes?"

"Clarke you're an adult if you think it's a good idea -- that's fine with me," Abby answers her.

"My whole life you micro manage me and this is your reaction? Who are you and what have you done with my mother? Since I applied for this internship you have been way too hands off ... I appreciate it, but at the same time it worries me," Clarke comments as her eyes start to close, they burn with tiredness.

"I still care pumpkin, but I don't want to dictate where you want to be in five or ten years, I just want you to be happy," Abby tells her, as she curls her legs up on the sofa.

"Gross," Clarke groans, "what a load of crap. I can picture Dad's face as you said that. He would not have bought it any more than I did."

A brief silence occurs, and then both women burst out laughing.

"Shutup," Abby giggles, and throws one of the small pillows at her head.

" _I just want you to be happy_ ," Clarke mimics playfully, "says the woman who forced me into a college prep academy, run for student council, and join the honors society."

"Hey, hey! I've always been supportive of your passion for art though! And I wasn't the one who forced you into soccer, you can blame your father for that," Abby smiled. They hear Wilson growl softly in the corner and both of them look at eachother and then giggle more.

"Yeah, but after like a year he let me quit! I was in student council all throughout high school!" Clarke threw the pillow back at her, their laughter continued to be drawn from the memories of Jake.

"You were bad on purpose," Abby laughed, "you were completely content on the bench."

"And you guys still showed up to every game," Clarke grinned.

"Hey you can hate me all you want, I'm your mother and I want what's best for you. And you know ... you're just winging it as a first time parent Clarke. We didn't know if we were being too hard or soft on you, all we knew was that we loved you," Abby continued in a soft voice, as Wilson has made his way up the couch to sit between them. His head lays in Abby’s lap, and she smiles down at the dog, giving him pets. Clarke noticed as her mother got lost in her own head for a second, "But hey I think you turned out alright,” Abby finished.

"I hope so, I'm gonna need be freaking spectacular to keep up with this job," Clarke moaned, "I can't even discuss him in full detail mom, or I could be sued."

"It's common for many companies to sign a privacy policy Clarke, he's a person too, and if he has a family he probably doesn't want them to be roped into the press," Abby stated gently.

"That's the thing, his whole life is a mystery," Clarke sat up straight and turned to her mom, with newly lit eyes. Wilson looks back at her with his dark brown orbs, clearly annoyed she moved his hind legs from their previous position, "he doesn't wear a wedding ring, so he's not married. Unless he's like one of those new age couples who doesn't believe in wedding rings, and the whole traditional hoopla of marriage.”

Abby can only watch as Clarke continues, “I know he has a daughter, and she plays volleyball because we picked up knee pads for her before lunch today. But that's it! And he like clearly forbade me from answering a phone number. I'm guessing it's his ex-wife but who's to know? Because his entire existence outside of work is a secret. Literally mom," Clarke pulls out her phone from her back pocket, and opens up her LinkedIn account where she has already successfully connected with him. She scours to find his profile, once it pops up she shoves the screen in her moms face, “this is his _only_ social media platform. And it’s all stuff you could've found out about him from one of his business interviews anyways!”

Abby laughs, “I don’t have any social media accounts either.”

“Well yeah,” Clarke places her phone back in her lap, “because you’re hopeless on social media.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to deal with all the internet of things,” Abby replies.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Clarke mutters and earns a foot shove from her mom.

“What does he even look like?” Abby asks, “You scrolled down before showing me.”

Clarke picks back up her phone and types in his name on Google. She looks for the one picture on the company website, and successfully finds it. She turns up the brightness of her phone, before passing it over to her moms waiting hand.

Abby was expecting a lot of things, but definitely not the man looking off to the side with a wide smile on his face. Her eyes roamed over his dark eyes, and what looked like lush locks. His beard only added to his appearance, and Abby had to remind herself that this was a _real_ person as she stared at him.  

“He’s handsome,” she commented in her best leveled voice, looking at his smile one more time before handing Clarke back her phone.

But Clarke has already switched to another app, strategically choosing not to comment on her mothers' compliment of her boss. Before Abby knows it, a video of a puppy falling asleep is being shoved in her face.

"Unless you're taking care of it, we are not getting another dog, Clarke," Abby warns, and then looks down at the large golden on her lap, "Je t'aime Wilson," she tells him before kissing the top of his head.

* * *

The days go by, quickly, and the moment Clarke feels like she has a handle on things. The world, or God, she likes blaming that guy a lot, decides to test her even more. Kane was not lying when he said it could be overwhelming, but she didn't think it would be every single day. She started getting there at 7:30 a.m. every morning just to catch up on emails sent the night before. She knew it was bad when _she_ turned on the television in the living room to Good Morning America as she made breakfast, her mom still snoring in the master bedroom. She'd yet to have lunch with her mother, and Abby's patience was running thin.

"What if I go to you?" her mom had asked one morning.

"Mom that's like the ultimate _uncool_ thing to do, my mother showing up to have lunch with me at my desk?" Clarke sighed as she grabbed two yogurts from the refrigerator.

"Well you need to eat," Abby commented a little tenaciously, before grabbing the yogurt Clarke was handing her across the island, "string cheese and packaged fruit do not constitute as a lunch."

Clarke groaned in agreeance, "Okay, how about this, you pick up food from wherever you want, and I will meet you downstairs? For thirty minutes tops!"

Abby raised her eyebrow, knowing her daughter was just as stubborn as she was, and this was the only way for them to meet in the middle, "fine 12 o'clock I'll be there."

What Clarke was not expecting, was for Jasper to bring her a take out bag at 11:50 a.m.

"Some lady brought it in and said it was for you before running away, _literally running_ away," he told her as he placed the bag on her desk, there were two boxes inside and in pen her mother had scribbled a note into the styrofoam.

_Got called into an emergency surgery. Tell CEO man I hope he enjoys my burger. -A_

"Thanks, Jasper," Clarke said but the young man eyed the extra box of food, "Scram! You told me last week you were allergic to avocado and I am not giving you _my_ burger."

Jasper rolled his eyes, muttering something about her being a princess, and she chucked an eraser head at him. To which he reluctantly picked up, knowing Kane hated the lobby to be a mess. Right on cue, Kane walked back into the office his phone by his ear, and his sunglasses still on. Immediately Clarke noticed the big brown stain on his light blue polo, and she began looking for the dry cleaner in her contacts.

As he got closer to her desk, he hung up the phone and looked at her with exasperation. His hands going up in disbelief of his current physicality.

"Please don't be _that_ guy with sunglasses on _inside_ ," Clarke mentioned and his hands quickly moved to remove them, as if forgetting he even had them on.

"Some woman practically ran me over as she exited the elevator, and now I have this," he points to the stain, "I have places to be too, that doesn't mean I _run_ like a mad man. She merely waved me off. I could hardly make out her face. What if I had third degree burns? Who would I have sued then?"

"The company who gave you coffee hot enough to leave you with third-degree burns, not the woman probably en route to an emergency," Clarke answered as she handed him a napkin from the take out bag.

"You've become awfully comfortable around me Clarke," he sneers as he takes the napkin from her hand, "it's refreshing, do continue."

Clarke laughs, "You should have extra shirts in your office closet, and I'll take that one to the cleaners on my way home."

Kane gives up on the napkin, not doing anything but drying the already permanent stain, "Thank you," he tells her as he crumples the napkin and shoots for a nearby trash bin, thankfully making it in. "Also, what is that? It smells amazing, and I don't remember asking you to grab my lunch."

His eyes graze over the take out boxes just as Jaspers had, and Clarke reaches into the bag taking out the box on top, "Courtesy of my mother, she had an em-" Clarke stops herself from completing her sentence, knowing it was a seventy percent chance that Abby was the one who ran over Kane, "she got called into a surgery."

"She writes like a doctor," Kane muses looking down at Abby's scribbles as he takes the box from Clarke's hand, "what in the world does this say?"

"Tell CEO man I hope he enjoys _my_ burger," Clarke smiled softly and Kane seems puzzled.

"Oh no," he gently places the box back down on the desk, "she should have it. Were you guys supposed to eat together?"

"Yeah," Clarke grumbles as she takes her food out of the bag, "she's been trying to meet with me for days. Just because we're in the same town and all during work hours. But," Clarke shoves the box back at him, "she clearly insisted you have it. I'm not going to eat two burgers. And it has avocado and bacon! Just take the burger and fries please."

Kane observes her nonchalant mannerisms then asks, "Clarke do you like spending time with your mother?"

Clarke's eyes go wide, as she's mid dip into some ranch, "Of course! I just ... I want to do a good job here, and she understands that."

He grabs the box, briefly running a finger over the indented scribbles, "Do yourself and your mother a favor, go have lunch with her for an hour and half on Friday. Nobody will die if you enjoy some time in the city for food and good company." With that, he lifts the box up at her as a final thank you and disappears behind the wall to his office.

Not much time later Clarke receives an email from him.

* * *

 

This burger is **amazing,** please tell this A woman that she has impeccable taste. What is the name of the restaurant?

Marcus

* * *

Clarke quietly laughs because she knows he's supposed to be on a conference call as he's eating his lunch, and apparently writing an email.

* * *

 

It's actually from a food truck called "Burgers, Please" on the west side of Polis. And A stands for Abigail.

Clarke

* * *

Marcus listens as the business call with three other CEOs from marketing agencies diverts from client talk to a discussion on whether or not they're going to the conference in Chicago later that fall. Clarke's email appears in his inbox, and he opens it while reaching for another fry. _Abigail_ , he thinks, _Abigail ... Griffin._ Marcus hardly recognizes he's smiling, until his mouth gets a little sore. He feels like he practically knows Abigail from every personal meeting he's had with Clarke, that one way or another leads to a story or anecdote where her mother is the lead role. He imagines what she looks like, and decides it's not weird if he finally puts a face to the name.

He opens up Google and searches: Abigail Griffin Pediatric Surgeon Polis

To his surprise, no social media accounts come to the fore front of the web, and he finds himself more curious about this woman than ever before. He hates to admit it, but he may even admire her more for her lack of presence on the internet. Aside from paid ads, there's a link toward the top of the first page that reads "Dr. Abigail Griffin, Chief of Surgery, Polis Children's Hospital."

His fingers click the link and her portrait pops up next to her biography, and he hardly realizes his conference call has ended and he hadn't uttered a word in the last couple of minutes. He sees the smile that her and her daughter share equally, as soon as his eyes fall over her laugh caught perfectly on camera. He loves this photo. It's not stoic and posed like most portrait head shots are of doctors. It's warm, even if the colors are cool blues and gray's. Her hair is parted down the middle and runs in loose waves down her face. Her white coat reads "Dr. Griffin" in dark blue stitching. But underneath she's wearing an emerald green silk blouse, accenting her tan skin and dark caramel hair. Her eyes shine, and he then concludes Clarke was gifted her blue orbs from her father because Abby's are a chocolate brown.

He'd inferred from Clarke's first introduction and small tid bits here and there, that Clarke no longer had her father. He never pried on details, and could tell Clarke was thankful for that. But now he longed to know the story, as his eyes drifted to the next picture where Abby's arms hugged a small child on her lap, a small diamond ring on her wedding finger, paired with a thin wedding band that had oval diamonds one after the other. In this photo, she was in scrubs, and her hair was braided down the left side of her face. If this is how scrubs looked on every doctor, he was sure he wouldn't hate needles as much as he did. _How can she be this beautiful in scrubs_? he thought shamefully. 

 _The woman saves children's lives and has a position of power, and all you're thinking about is how godly she looks like in scrubs? Despicable, Marcus, despicable._ He chides himself, but he can't bring his finger to click the tab closed.

"Kane?" someone calls at him loudly and he embarrassingly slams his laptop closed. His eyes rise to meet Clarke halfway in the door, "Your one thirty is here."

Kane rises and smoothes out his sweaty palms on his dark jeans, "Yes, of course, send them in."

“Might want to change your shirt first,” Clarke points at him and he looks down realizing he hasn’t even bothered looking for another one without a stain, “I’ll send them in five minutes.”

“Thanks!” Kane tells her before running to his closet in search of something clean.

He never brings up Clarke's mother again but does roam the office more that Friday. To his misfortune, Clarke meets her mother _downstairs_ and Abby does not follow her up when lunch is over.

A week later, Kane works from home because his daughter fell ill, and misses an office appearance from the mother who makes the, "best fucking homemade brownies in all of the tri-city" according to Raven. Although Clarke explains they were just extras from those Abby usually bakes monthly for the children, his sadness is hardly hidden. So, a few days later there's a snazzy Tupperware box filled with brownies with a post it that reads, " _2:0"_ and he can't help but chuckle at the smart ass woman who both he and his daughter agreed made the _best fucking brownies in all of the tri-city_.

He walks into the office a few days later, with a clean Tupperware to return to Clarke, and tells her to thank her mom for her generosity. Clarke rolls her eyes, before walking towards the conference room to set up for the status meeting. Kane had given her the project of reserving a venue, contact a decorating service, and creating the invitation herself for a party to invite all their clients. A party to thank them, and continue their relationship. It was a _big_ project.

She threw out her ideas on venues. All the outdoor one’s immediately being shot down due to the warm summer weather. However, once Clarke brought up the Polis Museum of Art, it was a hit amongst all directors. But more importantly, Kane nodded his head in approval at the idea.

"David can get you in touch with someone from the Museum, they've worked with us before so I'm sure an agreement on price can be met. Let's regroup tomorrow afternoon, and finalize invitations to send out on Wednesday," Kane said and that was that. The meeting continued on, with others updating and showcasing their own projects.

_That's two days, counting today, to finalize an invitation. Almost thirty-nine hours. Get a grip, Clarke._


	5. A Night At The Museum And Marcus Meets Abby

The nervousness dies down after Clarke turns in the first draft of her design, and she takes well to the constructive criticism given by Niylah, Emori, and Kane. What Clarke does not expect is the complete and utter incompetence of the museum management and decorators. The museum at first was completely ecstatic to host AMS in one of their exhibits -- then they double booked the space for that night, then they told her the other client happily changed their date, and then they told her if it was possible for AMS to choose another date. To which Clarke explained was not an option because they had already sent out the invitations.

The first choice decorators at first said they couldn't manage a time date less than a month, so she called another company, who said they could do it but would charge extra for the "poor" time management. Which then made Clarke defensive, and she said she could take her business elsewhere. Then _both_ decorating companies called her back but explained the cost would _only_ be inflated to pay for the overtime hours of their employees. When Clarke tried to barter they both pulled out again.

_I fucked up._

_Oh my god, I fucked up so bad. Now we don't have any decorators. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

She began to feel the world come down on her shoulders, and tears sting at her eyes. She quickly rushed to the restroom, lowering her head as David and Indra walked by her. Just as she opened the office doors, Raven was coming back from lunch. Clarke failed at hiding her blotchy face, and Raven hastily followed her into the restroom.

Clarke immediately hid in one of the stalls and tried to calm her panic attack. _One stupid simple task, Clarke. And you've managed to let it go to shit. Should you tell Kane? You've been going back and forth with these two companies for weeks, it's too late to inquire with someone else._

"Yo, Griffin, please come out of the stall," Raven groaned as she leaned back against the marble counter top. Clarke kept still, hoping Raven would go away. "You have ten seconds before I become more imaginative," Raven chimed and Clarke heard her put her bag down.

_10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5_

"Okay, you asked for this," Raven said and Clarke peeked through the little space between the two stalls to see Raven bending down to crawl under the bathroom door.

"Gross, Raven," Clarke groaned as she opened her door in time for Raven to let out a breath in relief.

Clarke moved past Raven to lean against the large blurred window to the far left of the bathroom.

"Are you still crying?" Raven asked as she approached her hurriedly, "There's no crying in the office, this is a place of _business_."

Clarke rolled her eyes and reached for a napkin to dab at the tears rolling down her face, "I know, I know, why do you think I ran in here?!" she hissed back at Raven.

"Cry on the _inside_ Clarke," Raven stated as she took the napkin from Clarke's hand and handed her a tissue from her bag. "Why are you crying anyway?"

Clarke tried to explain but her sobs began to take over her again.

This time Raven grabbed her face painfully sharp in her hands, "What did I just say?"

Clarke attempted silencing her sobs and calming her breath, "Cry on the inside."

"Good, now thirty-second pity party, let's go, get it all out," Raven said as she let go of her face and crossed her arms in front of herself.

"My life is over, and I'll be fired by tomorrow morning, and then I'll have to go intern at the stupid State Capitol with stupid Thelonias Jaha, and live in TonDC with my mother and Wilson for the rest of my life, because no one in Polis will ever hire me after they find out I can't do something as simple as hire decorators for a stupid party," Clarke tells her in one long breath, and it feels good to just let it all out.

"Jesus Christ," Raven states as her head falls in her hands, "you're crying over decorations?"

Clarke raises her eyebrow at Raven and she decides to cut Clarke a little slack, "There's always a way Clarke, even if it takes more work than the initial plan. What's the next step?"

"Jumping off a cliff," Clark mumbles.

"Pity party ended kid, you can either go out swinging or let the decorators win," Raven shrugs and with that, she taps the top of Clarke's head, grabs her bag, and walks out of the bathroom.

Clarke does not let the decorators win, but she does take the extra charge from her first choice.

* * *

 When Marcus walks into the museum that Friday night, he's blown away. It's definitely _festive_. A little beyond his expectations, and he really only wants to thank one person. Of course, the decorators always did a fantastic job, but he _knew_ how hard they were to work with. This had been a test from the very beginning, and Clarke passed with flying colors. He had even received an email from her earlier that day that his travel arrangements from the office to the party had been made.

Then his phone buzzed.

From: Clarke Griffin

_Hope you got to the event safely, and I hope nothing is burning. My mom's surgery ran a little late, so ETA 45 min. Sorry! Text me if something comes up._

He didn't notice when his breath hitched, _does this mean she was bringing Abigail? Or was she just waiting for her to return home for Wilson?_ He guessed he would find out in forty-five minutes. _45 minutes? What a fucking eternity,_ he thought and itched at the collar of his white dress shirt. Suddenly everything he was wearing felt too tight. And he really, really wanted a drink. He quickly spotted the bar in the center of the room, and after he ordered his jack and coke, he replied:

_Everything looks wonderful. Take your time, don't speed._

* * *

"Mom seriously, seriously? We have to go!" Clarke moaned as she hit her forehead on Abby's bathroom door. Wilson snoring peacefully in the middle of Abby’s king sized bed.

"Clarke I've barely been home for five minutes," Abby glared at her while slipping on her white strappy heels, "I said you could go without me!"

"Um impossible, you promised me you'd help me survive the night," Clarke handed her mom the white maxi dress she had picked out for her. It had a deep plunge neckline that ended just underneath the bust, a wrap immediately underneath the neckline, and a side slit.

Abby stood up from her seat, clad in her nude bra, and pencil skirt from work. She grabbed the dress from Clarke and then eyed her suspiciously, "I wore this to a beach wedding ... once, don't you think it's a little too casual for this event?" she asked.

Clarke hung up the dress on the closet door behind her mom, and helped her unzip her skirt, "Did you just hear yourself? You used wedding and casual in the same sentence. Also, it's more than just a _casual_ party mom. It's _perfect_!"

It didn't take much more after that to convince Abby to put on the beautiful, and to her delight -- light, dress. In all truthfulness, she loved it. But Abby wasn't one to just wear ethereal clothing like this out and about just because. As Abby reluctantly took off her bra, realizing she'd have to do this due to the neckline, she suddenly felt very self-cautious.

"Clarke I think I'm just going to wear-"

"There's no time! Put these on, we gotta go!" Clarke shoved small gold hoop earrings at her and then began rummaging through the rest of her jewelry stand. As soon as Abby finished clasping the last earring, Clarke was already behind her securing the gold necklace with a thin rectangle that housed a few crystals in the center. "Thank, God you wore your hair down to work today."

"Thanks, Clarke," Abby mumbled as she reached for the gold bracelet Clarke had left on her white stone counter top. Abby was barely able to apply her quick makeup routine before Clarke told her she could finish in the car. Luckily, all Abby had left was to apply her poppy red lipstick and she was good to go. Clarke insisted she would drive because she knew the quickest route and the way through the parking garage near the museum. Things Abby easily could have done herself but decided to let her daughter take control to ease her anxiety.

Within thirty minutes they were parking in the dimly lit garage, and Abby was honestly surprised at how many green lights Clarke had hit. They both got off the car swiftly and made their way to the entrance. Everything looked normal until the elevator opened to the third floor, and current pop hits were playing. Clarke groaned immediately, "I told them _anything_ literally _anything_ but Billboard's top 50. I'll be back, I need to find the DJ."

Abby could barely utter a word before Clarke was strutting into the crowd in her navy blue dress and nude heels. Deep down Abby knew this would happen. It was Clarke's tell since she was a kid. She'd make her mom stay at birthday parties, even though she wouldn't talk to her the whole night, and would ask to sleep over. She'd make her mom go with her to dentist appointments even to this day. She'd make her mom roam around the mall for a few hours while she met with friends. She made her mom stay during her college orientation at a hotel nearby, just in case. And Abby knew in all truthfulness, that no Clarke never _made_ her do anything. Her mom was her safety net. And yes, it was easier when she could drag her husband with her to keep her company. But even now, here she was, not an ounce of anger as Clarke walked off.

She inhaled what she could only describe as very expensive perfume with hints of floral and coconut. When she looked up, and saw the large chandelier, with Christmas lights meticulously branching off of it, she was sure AMS had the budget to spray whatever Tom Ford sample she kept in her purse from Nordstrom through every air vent available. There were marble statues, large floor pieces with beautifully crafted flowers, and a shit ton of people. Fortunately, her attire was perfect, and she mentally thanked her stubborn daughter. She grabbed a glass of some kind of pink alcohol as a woman in a black dress walked by, and after it flowed down her throat she realized it was rosé. So she placed her empty glass down on the tray and grabbed another as a male with a black dress shirt and matching slacks passed by her right on cue. She wandered around to all the different art pieces hanging on the wall, grabbing more of the alcohol available to her, and avoiding the large crowd towards the middle of the room, not really in the mood to make conversation with anyone.

Her eyes met Clarke's figure across the room, and she was laughing with a group of people. Knowing she was in good hands, Abby sneaked out of the main exhibit and to the other rooms, that were not open for viewing. They were barely enclosed by the seat belt borders they used for lines at the airport. The ones her and Clarke darted under when they were running late for their departure. So she took a look to the left and then to the right, and then unclipped the belt and walked through, clipping it back in place behind her.

In the middle of the dimly-lit room, she found a soft bench that looked up at a small painting titled "Study for Justice, Peace and Truth" by Giovanni Battista Gaulli. Abby truthfully admitted that she was very tipsy at this point, and didn't try to understand the work in front of her into much detail. It was beautiful and powerful and soft, all at the same time. And that was all she had for this piece. No extreme thoughts. Just appreciation.

* * *

He had grown tired from the networking and the mingling that came with these events and was reminded once again why he hated company parties. They were fun for others, he made sure of that, but like a politician, he had to make his rounds from person to person's friend to another person. By the time he ordered his last drink, a bourbon neat, he just wanted to be home in his bed. Instead, he found solace in wandering down the other halls, deciding he was paying the museum enough to lay down on a bench -- just for a little bit.

What he wasn't expecting was for her to be sitting, smiling softly with her eyes closed, as she took another sip from her glass of wine. She looked beautiful, and when he tipped the pole over as he walked towards her, completely forgetting to unclip the band, she bolted upwards and lent out a hand as he looked up at her from his knees on the floor.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she helped pull him up to his feet.

"And I thought I was the buzzed one," she laughed throatily and he let go of her hand.

"I somehow managed to not drop my drink," he lifted it up towards her as he turned to pick up the fallen pole and enclose them inside the small exhibit once more.

"Talent," she mused over the top of her glass and then walked back over to the bench. He stayed in place, not sure if he was allowed to sit by her. She turned to him then, "Got tired of socializing?"

"You could say that," he nodded at her, taking a swig from his glass, and feeling more confident as the liquid warmed his throat.

She did not like her initial reaction to him, once he took a seat beside her. His cologne seemed to fill the space around them, and she couldn't remember the last time she felt herself drawing closer to a human. It hadn't been that long, right? He certainly was tasteful, even in this dim lighting, and his presence just seemed _darker_ than his photo online. She didn't let herself stare too long, opting for another drink of her wine, but to her dismay, it was all gone. He noticed this too when he offered up his drink to her, and she politely declined.

What he wasn't expecting was for her to look golden, in a good way. He also hadn't expected her to be _this_ petite. Even as they sit down, her frame was small and delicate -- but from all the stories he'd been told he absolutely knew this wasn't the case. She bent down to set her glass on the floor, and a waft of shampoo drifted up to him. God, he wanted a cigarette. This woman was bringing out all his bad habits, and he hadn't even uttered a word to her since practically embarrassing himself.

They sat and looked up at the small painting, with the lull of music sneaking its way down the halls and into the dark forbidden rooms. Rooms of which they both should have been afraid to be in. But neither made a move to leave. And neither made any notions of being concerned. Marcus was tempted to look over at her, to see if she was still there, or just a twisted figment of his drunken imagination.

Her legs were crossed over the other, and her head lazily leaned on her hand, as her elbow was propped up on the back cushion of the bench. Abby was never one to make small talk, brief pleasantries yes, but never one to go on talking about the weather or small towns she'd never heard of. But something in her stirred to start a conversation with this man, regardless of the depth or stimulation. He was, in fact, a CEO of a million dollar company right? Half his job was being charming, so she waited ... and waited ... for him to be charming.

He'd blown it. Downing his beverage, and tapping at the pack of cigarettes he kept in his dark jeans. This particular one had not been opened yet because it was only in deep deep states of anxiousness did he smoke. After a client fucked up, or his company fucked up, or when the thing he tried so hard to escape wouldn't let him. He hadn't thought about the thing in a while, and like hell, if he was going to start now, with Abigail sitting right next to him.

"You know," he heard her speak up as he twirled the tip of his finger on the edge of the glass in his hand, "I don't think the CEO of the company who is throwing the party, should be gone this long. Some people's feelings could get hurt."

Her eyes twinkled up at him, and her face was flushed from the alcohol.

"Here I thought I was getting away with being unrecognized," he commented and leaned down to place his empty glass on the floor next to hers.

She smiled, "I think everyone at this party knows who you are, they're all your clients or employees aren't they?"

"Not all of them," he mused as he angled his body towards her, mimicking the way she was holding her head in her palm earlier, "take you for example, I would remember you if you were a client, and surely I would remember you more if you worked for me," he teased playing with a silver ring on his right hand.

Abby's eyes widened and although her cheeks didn't redden, her exposed chest gave her away when it turned a dark rose. _So he is charming,_ she thought.

"Oh my god," she straightened up, feeling the rush of blood roll down her body, "was that your try at picking me up?" she rose her eyebrow and a playful smile tugged at the side of her lips, "That really works on the young ladies doesn't it? While your breath smells like mint, and you drink a neat strong man bourbon, and you spray tree oak all over yourself." She waved her hands aimlessly over his form, "Must be really easy," she instinctively runs her fingers through her hair. His laugh makes her heart warm, and he angles his body closer to hers as she begins to feel good about defusing the tension.

"Okay, tell me your sage advice. Try and pick me up, and I'll tell you if it works," he tells her and she rolls her shoulders back, fighting back the nerves crawling up every part of her body.

"Okay, first of all, you did the approach all wrong," she explains and he sighs rolling his eyes.

"What did you want me to do? Back you into a dark corner? Two handsome strangers underneath a fifteenth century painting of the Virgin Mary?"

"Did you just call me handsome?"

"Handsome enough to tempt me," he says without thinking and her eyes go wide as a deep laugh vibrates through her throat roughly.

"You can't help yourself can you?!" she fights the urge to shove him, "It just rolls off you, all the ease of ... of ..."

"Desire? Flirtation? Wit?"

"Marketing. Appealing to the masses. Bullshitting."

"Ow," he gasps as he pretends to shove a knife through his chest, "you hurt me, woman."

"It was a simple mistake," she tells him, getting back to the root of their conversation, "one question that many overlook."

"Show me," he taunts her, and she turns to face him fully now. Her head shaking back and forth in protest.

“No, no, no, because then you’ll think I’m trying to pick you up,” she grins, “which I’m not.”

"Oh trust me I know _that_ ," he shrugs, and suddenly Abby falls quiet, her gaze wandering down to her hands that are suddenly twiddling around each other. Was the fun over? Was it really that hard to believe she could have flirtatious banter with someone?

"You're way out of my league," he whispers and her eyes shoot up at him, "I mean for Christ's sake, you walk into closed exhibits without an ounce of care about the consequences. You put every human being who’s ever lived to shame in that dress. And you talk with a purpose."

Abby can barely gather her thoughts, before he continues, "You, Abigail Griffin, are way out of my league."

The words drip from his lips, and he knows there's no going back now. He's given himself up. His charade of her anonymity is gone.

"You know my name?" she feels like she shouts but it merely comes out as a high-pitched murmur, "You know who I am?"

The room around her starts to glaze over, and although she was three wine glasses in earlier -- she could surely go for some fucking tequila right about now.

"Clarke is my right hand ... of course I know who you are."

Suddenly Abby feels very different as if the plates they had been walking on only a few minutes ago had shifted. This game they were playing no longer looked the same. She had thought she had the upper hand the entire time, and he let her believe that. He let her believe she was but another person at the party. It was expected of his guests to know him, but surely not the other way around. Her flirtatious conversation was acceptable without remorse if he didn't know her daughter was Clarke. Now it seemed wrong, so so wrong, to be with him in this lonely -- borderline intimate, exhibit.

"I need some air," she told him reaching down to grab her glass and darting out of the room, stumbling slightly as she ducked under the belt.

She made her way strategically through the crowd, to the bar that was thankfully still open, and ordered anything with tequila. Literally. That's what she told the bartender. Anxiously awaiting her drink, she hoped the crowd was large enough for him to give up on finding her. _If he even followed me_ , she thought ineptly.

Then she felt her right shoulder warm, and the shadow from her peripherals ordered a glass of whiskey. She didn't have to turn to know it was him. That stupid smell of oak followed him everywhere.

Just as the bartender placed her drink down in front of her, he swiped it and held it hostage until his own drink was placed in front of him. Avoiding her glare, he passed her glass back over to her and then grabbed her free hand dragging her through the crowd.

"What are you doing?!" she yelled at him over the music which had gotten louder as the night grew on.

"You said you needed air," he yelled back at her, "so I'm taking you to get air!"

The more she tried to pull her hand away, the more he held onto it. She hadn't done this in a while. Let a man lead her through tight spaces, with curious looks every so often from what she believed were many of his young admirers.

"The exits that way," she pulled at his arm and pointed in the opposite direction of the way they were headed.

"Can't you just trust me?" he eyed her as the crowd began to lessen.

"No!" she called to him, unable to hide the smile on her face.

As if entering another world, suddenly the fresh air and bright city building lights appeared before her. The ground felt different and she realized there was turf instead of cement. To her right was a metal art installation, and to her left was a photo booth. He led her to the ledge, where they could look out into the city from the museum's third-floor balcony.

"Your air," he waved as he let go of her hand, and she ached as the cold feeling between her fingers returned. They both moved to face the city, allowing their shoulders to graze only the briefest of bits.

"Thank you," she whispered as she let the smooth liquid of her drink run down her throat. He placed his glass on the ledge and reached inside his pocket for his cigarettes. She hadn't noticed until she heard him peel off the plastic wrapping and discard the trash in the recycling bin.

What Abby wanted to say was how disgusting, and unhealthy, and deadly smoking was. She wanted to call him out on his destructive lifestyle. What she didn't want him to find out was that the smell of cigarette smoke was tied for first on her list of favorite scents, right next to mint. And how deadly was that? Double, she knew.

So when he opened the pack and turned to her, she merely looked up at him with a blank face.

"Do you want to choose the lucky one?" he asked, and Abby set her drink down, gulping her nervousness away. She picked one from the top left corner and handed it to him. He smiled at her and then flipped it around, so it was now upside down and put it exactly in the same place she had just plucked it from.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked him.

"Just a little superstitious," he said as he chose one from the middle and put the pack away in his pocket once more, "it's for luck," he clarified.

Abby tried not to look like a child mesmerized as she watched him ask a couple nearby if they had a lighter, and nonchalantly the woman pulled one from her purse and helped him light his cigarette. _Do people just carry lighters?_ Abby thought. _Is it not weird to ask people to light their cigarette?_ _How common was this?_ Abby felt horribly sheltered and perspective skewed.

"I don't do this often, I promise before you list the many detriments of smoking to me," he says coming near her again, as he blows the smoke up above them and away from her, "as I'm sure any good doctor would do."

She tries not to look eager as he comes closer, the smell beginning to invade her system. Then, _did he just say doctor?_

"How much do you know about me?" she eyes him quizzically.

His fingers itch to ask her if she wants a drag, always thinking of how intimate that was for him. But he knows she'll decline.

"I know your name, your job title, your daughter, and that you have a dog."

"That's it?" she pressures him, and he chuckles, deciding not to mention the million tiny stories Clarke has said about her mom.

"That's it," he smiles, and when he turns his head to blow the smoke away from her he nearly misses it. He nearly misses when her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath, her face in pure bliss. _She likes this_ , he thinks, _Abigail Griffin aren't you full of surprises._

"Well good," she nods and recovers from her previous state, "It also explains why you didn't ask my name."

He faces her then, "That was my mistake." It's not a question, and he concludes that when she smiles and turns to face the city before them. "And I wasn't trying to pick you up," he tells her as his cigarette comes to an end, the bud being discarded in the trash bin. He doesn't mean it to sound the way it comes out, but Abby's jaw tenses nonetheless.

"Oh, do explain," she murmurs edgily and takes another sip of her drink, as he reaches for his for the first time.

"Picking you up," he starts in a low voice, "insinuates that I want to have sex with you tonight."

Abby nearly chokes on her drink, and he continues, "However, what if I was just trying to get to know you?"

She turns to him then, her eyes glowing, "Apparently, you already know enough."

He leans in closer to her, and even with heels, she looks up at him under her eyelashes. _Getting to know me be damned, this feels sexual,_ Abby thinks.

"You should get back to your party," she tells him and her breath tickles his neck. She can smell the different beverages mixed together with his cigarette through his slightly parted lips.

"Only if you come with me, save me from small talk," he tells her.

She throws her head back in exasperation, "And risk Clarke seeing us together? No, absolutely not. She'll think what every other person who's seen you drag me out here is thinking."

"Abigail-"

"Abby," she puts up her hand to stop him, "you've been driving me crazy all night, I'm just Abby."

There go those plates underneath them shifting again, as his subtle smile turns into a wide accomplished grin. She decides in this moment that she _hates_ him. She absolutely, positively, hates him. She feels like she's lost to him in some way or another all night. Oddly, she feels played. Like he's playing her precisely how he plays other women. Easy and successfully.

What she doesn't know is just how on top of his game he was trying to be for her. She doesn't know that she was the cause of a cigarette, another drink, the twitch in his fingers to straighten her dainty necklace on her chest, the focus in his eyes not to roam up and down her body and memorize every part of her face. He feels needy. Like he doesn't want to leave her side for the rest of the night. He believes he's practically begging her to stay with him, and at any moment she'll realize this and leave.

"I feel like," she interrupts his thoughts and then bites her lips thinking out her next words more thoroughly. The wind picks up to a light breeze and the natural waves of her hair flow behind her, "I feel like I don't know where your act ends and you, the actual you -- not CEO you -- begins. Because if you go around talking this suave all the time, you're," she pauses looking down at the ground, "quite frankly you're trouble. I mean you're already trouble because you're Clarke's boss," her eyes flick up to him, "and you are obviously aware of the effect you have on people."

She watches and waits for him to reply, but instead, he looks down at his glass that is still half full and downs the remaining alcohol in one gulp. His jaw and his shoulders have tightened in stress, but then he grabs her hand once more and pulls her towards the empty photo booth.

Abby can merely watch as this man is tugging her again so unexpectedly. Then as if he can’t take it, he spins around, stopping them in their tracks. She nearly runs into his chest but is grateful for the few inches between them.

"You really believe I act this way in front of everybody?" he asks looking down at her. This time she's able to pull her hand away, but he continues unfazed. "I don't. I make nice. I ask the right questions, and I always -- always -- have an agenda with clients. I manipulate people to make the right choices. It's my job. But you … you were lost on me since the moment I saw you alone on that bench. I am trying to get you to stay. And I don't do that often. I don't do that at all. So I'm sorry if it's working _too_ well."

The air has done nothing for her in this moment, and she feels out of body when he pulls her into the photo booth.

She tries to tell herself that it's all the alcohol they've had throughout the night. They'd be off doing their own thing if they had both stuck to the rule of maximum two drinks. Okay, _three_ drinks. But no, Abby is having a hard time talking sense to herself and he just wants her to forget her rationality. Where quite frankly, to him, doesn't make sense. They were two grown adults, capable of having a good time. Which they were.

The bench she lands on is small, and he reaches over to shut the curtains on them. It's warmer in the small booth, and he almost feels like he's made a mistake -- then he hears Abby snort. A genuine, authentic, snort escapes from her lips and she covers her mouth as if she can put it back.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity.

"That you have a _big_ ego," she smiles devilishly at him, "What do you want me to say? Thank you? Thank you for giving me your apparent time of day."

His grin begins to fade, but then reappears when she mimics him in a deep voice, "I'm sorry I like you so much that my flirting is just that good -- I'm sorry I'm so handsome and smart -- I'm so so so sorry," she rolls her eyes, the alcohol fully making a home in her system.

"So you do think I'm handsome," he raises his eyebrow.

"It doesn’t matter what I think,” she whispers, “I’ll be home soon, with _my_ _daughter_ , and time will continue moving forward.”

“Wow, this turned bleak,” he jokes half-heartedly.

A comfortable silence drapes over them. Before Abby’s quiet voice breaks through.

"I'm having a really good time," she looks up at him, "And it's awful!" she groans, "Because you're obviously -- how did you phrase it? _Wanting to get to know me,"_ she says in air quotes and he bites back his chuckle, "and I suck because I've tried convincing myself to leave, but I ... I'm enjoying myself. I'm enjoying myself with you, and you're my daughters boss. It's inappropriate."

"I don't know if inappropriate is the term," he rolls his eyes and shrugs, "I'd go with highly frowned upon? But a lot of people do things that are frowned upon. And Abby," he pauses, "we've hardly done anything but have a few drinks and talk."

"Mhm," she mumbles teasingly, "until you try to pick me up.”

"Alright how about this," he counters, "I won't make a move, you will. Okay?"

He stops when her eyes narrow in on him, "I mean if you want to make a move," he clarifies nervously. And she feels her head nod slowly, a yes dripping from her lips so quietly, that she has to ask herself if she even really said it.

It occurs to them when the screen in front of them changes to a bright white, that they, in fact, are still in the confines of a small photo booth. He's first to react by reaching over to touch the screen and chooses a simple black and white filter, before pressing start.

"What are you doing?" she asks him in a high pitch voice.

"I'm documenting the night the woman alone in the exhibit decided to talk to me," he turns to her, and the screen tells them it will snap four photos.

Abby looks quickly between him and the camera, the adrenaline running through her body, and she feels the nervousness in her stomach but it can't deter the giddiness in her chest, "We can't do this!" she says and the first picture flashes as they're both facing each other, her eyes are wide and her smile betrays her. He's looking down at her with a grin. Both profiles shaping up nicely.

"Okay, I got an idea," he says as the countdown to the next picture is at one, he ducks, putting his head between his knees, and the flash captures Abby throwing her head back laughing, his shoulders barely making the border of the snapshot.

"That was your idea?" she asks through giggles.

"Got a better one?" he teases, and the clock is at three before the next photo. She hides her face behind her hands, and his chuckle erupts from his gut before he mimics her and they both are photographed facing forward hiding their face behind their palms.

They both let their hands fall, and the wrinkles on the side of their eyes are clear from their laughter.

"Now what?" he asks, and the clock taunts them to be quick.

"You're the creative one," she yelps.

Before she can object, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her on his lap. She feels her arms wrap around his neck instinctively, and her toes kick the wall, but she's too high to feel the pain.

"Better hide," he murmurs, and she turns to duck her head on top of his shoulder, and then she feels him burrow his head in the crook of her neck. His hair tickles her ear, and his beard feels rough against her collarbone. They both wait for the sound of the last picture, and she becomes awfully aware of his firm grip on her hips.

The quick photo shoot is over, and slowly they both raise their heads to each other. They breathe in and out in sync, and for the first time that night they are at the same eye level. Her hands haven't fallen from around his neck, and the proximity of him is no longer one she wants to drive away. Their foreheads touch, and so close to his lips she murmurs, "don't you dare kiss me."

They're not smiling this time, those stupid _plates_. "You're in control, remember?" he tells her. Abby nods slowly and can imagine the taste of alcohol and cigarette on her tongue. She wonders if he's this affected by _her_ , and believes he has to be.

She hasn't been like this with anyone since her husband, and truth be told she never expected to. But that was the thing about life. You don't think something's going to happen, and then _something does_. So she leans in further, so close that she can feel the tickle of his breath on her upper lip.

Then his phone rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a genuine appreciation for all comments and shown interest in this story. So, thank you wonderful people! Also, I am looking for ways to integrate photos, gifs, music playlists, etc. for more visuals on this AU. I don't exactly know how yet, but I'm excited and will keep you guys in the loop. Best, alt_olive.


	6. A Hopeful Ending And Start

Abby feels the vibration of his ringer underneath her bottom and immediately jumps off his lap. Whatever spell that had her almost kissing a man she barely knew, has worn off. And although she is visibly embarrassed by the incident, he seems aggravated. Whether by the interruption or herself, she doesn't take the time to find out as she sits idly beside him. Absolutely putting a respectable amount of emptiness between their bodies.

She watches him pull out his phone from his left pocket, and although she doesn't want to look, curiosity gets the best of her.

All the name reads is "O", and a photo of a young girl with jet black hair, sticking out her tongue and crossing her colored eyes, comes to view. Abby infers it's his daughter, but she shouldn't know that, or Clarke could get in a lot of trouble.

Her shoulders immediately fall as she exhales a large breath. Is that relief on her end? That another woman isn't calling him? Abby barely makes out that the man next to the young girl, also crossing his eyes, but trying to touch his tongue with his nose, is him. She doesn't even realize the smile on her lips, because of the goofy photo, until he swipes the answer button and takes the call. The picturing disappearing in front of her eyes, but making a space in her memory.

"Hey what's wrong?" he asks with concern.

She awkwardly plays with the necklace around her neck wondering if she should exit the booth to give him some privacy. However, when she tries to get up, he reaches for her hand and pulls her back down on the bench next to him. He signals to her that his phone call won't last long, and Abby bites her lip nervously, wondering if she likes this feeling of being wanted. As his hand slips from hers, and she does not enjoy _that_ feeling, it's decided that _yes_ she does like feeling wanted by this man.

"When are you getting home?" the other voice on the line asks.

"Why?" he counters, and Abby has to retain her laugh at his defense, "Why do you want to know when I'm getting home? Is someone there that shouldn't be?"

"Oh my God dad, NO," the voice whines, "I'm starving, and cereal really doesn't sound appealing to me."

"They didn't drop off our groceries today?" he asks, and Abby raises her eyebrow. Did this man or his family not buy _their own_ groceries?

"No," she sighed. "Plus, you act like I know how to cook," the girl sassed.

"Well it's half past ten O," he runs a hand over his face, "your options are a fast food burger and-"

"Can't we go get breakfast?" she chimes, "It's a weekend, and Jolene's is twenty-four hours!"

"I won't be home for another hour or so," he tells her but this time he feels Abby nudge him with her own shoulder. He looks over to her, and she mouths to him _you should go_. Octavia's rambles drowning out in the background, as he covers the small mic of his phone and leans in to murmur, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Abby smiles and speaks softly, "It's a weekend, and your daughter wants to eat with you -- trust me that stops soon enough, GO," she playfully nudges him again. And he sees a sadness in her eyes that quickly fades.

"But I mean if you come home and I'm dead on the-"

"Okay, Octavia!" he groans cutting of the young girls' voice, "I'll catch a cab home and then we can go to Jolene's."

"Yes! Thanks, dad, you're the best," the girl chimes and then hangs up the phone.

"Actually, french toast does sound really good right about now," he says, "I was hoping to just stuff a greasy burger down my throat and hope to God she didn't make me go running with her in the morning," he laughs.

"I take she's never seen you hungover?" Abby asks.

"Only once after a wedding I attended," he shook his head looking down in embarrassment, " _that_ was not fun. She was eleven and kept poking her head in the bathroom door asking me if she should call 911 for an ambulance." His laugh was quiet and Abby's giggles joined in, "I felt awful," he smiled, "not just because I was throwing up my guts, but because my child was attempting to take care of me -- when it should always be the other way around. She brought me glasses of water, and crackers, and socks because she knows our bathroom tiles get cold. When I finally felt better I walked, more or less, out of the bathroom to find she had fallen asleep right outside the door."

Abby couldn't help but stare at him as he told this private story. This was the man beneath the charm and the branding of AMS, this was the Marcus Kane she did not expect but was very happy to meet. The charming Marcus, she liked too, but this man ... opening up, even with a small funny story, was someone she wanted to see again. But she quickly pushed that thought away, at least for now.

"Wait until _she's_ the one sitting in the dark bathroom groaning, and you'll have this part of you that wants to be mad but then suddenly you're bringing her Tylenol and fries to eat and you're just happy she's safe," Abby chuckles, "or at least that was my experience."

"I also take that Clarke wasn't found in that position many times," he says lightly.

"Oh no," Abby shakes her head, "She always found ways to entertain herself," she continues, "books, drawing, painting. Sometimes she just needed a little push to get out of her room."

"Isn't Clarke twenty?" Marcus asks a little humor in his voice, "Doctor Griffin, don't you have a duty to enforce the risks of underage drinking?" Marcus feigned astonishment.

Abby can't help but smirk, "Are you questioning my parenting skills? She's a smart, hardworking, respectful human being -- I'd say her one and only hangover was not detrimental."  

"Oh God," he sighs, "I can't even imagine finding a hungover Octavia, another milestone I can wait for."

"Milestone?" she asks curiously.

"Wanting to go to the movies with her girl friends and _boys,_ first milestone. Lady talk, the second milestone."

"Lady talk?" Abby giggles even though she knows the answer, but the blush that creeps up his neck to his cheeks is worth it.

"Yea," he starts shyly rubbing the back of his neck, and Abby stares waiting for him to continue, and he realizes at this point she's just giving him a hard time, "Abby are you mocking a paternal figure who took the time to read books on what happens to a woman's body every month so he could properly and comfortably explain to his daughter her menstruation?"

Abby can't help but laugh, "Awh you read books, that's really sweet," she touches his shoulder.

"Yes, three books approximately," he tells her, "and then I absolutely took her to the doctor so she could explain to my daughter what was happening in her body, but the point is _I tried_."

Their laughs fill the small booth, and it's not until some sweet girl pokes her head in, that they realize other people must want to remember the night as well. So, Abby grabs the two strips of photos they took earlier and gives him his half. They stay standing in the middle of the balcony, simply gathering their belongings, until there's nothing left to put in pockets or fix in purses.

"Well you should get home to your hungry daughter," Abby tells him softly, and for once she wishes he didn't take her advice.

"I should," he nods.

He looks down at her and prays this wouldn't be the last time he got to look at her while she toyed with her fingers nervously.

"Think you're good enough? I could give you some medical tips on-"

His shaking head makes her stop talking, "I'll be fine, and then the coffee at the diner will fix me right up. But thank you."

She doesn't quite know where to go from here. They've exhausted all time together tonight.

"You know," he says biting his lip, "you chided me for not asking your name -- but you haven't asked mine all night. You've said my title quite a few times, but I'm a person too."

Abby is caught off guard so completely that she falls for his puppy dog frown, and sullen bowed head.

"I'm sorry," she states with big eyes, "it didn't even occur to me to ask when I assumed everyone would obviously know who you are," she rambles mindlessly as her cheeks flush, and she brushed her hair away from her face multiple times. It's not until she sees him biting his lip so roughly to hide his amusement, that she stops and shoves his shoulder. "You're the worst," she tells him trying to be stern but the smile tugging at her lips gives her away.

"I'm going to leave now," she states backing away slowly, "it was a good night CEO Marcus Kane."

"Just Marcus," he tells her, "please."

Abby stops moving and nods her head, "Okay, Marcus."

And in that moment he swears his name had never had any meaning coming out from someone's lips until it flew so easily through hers. In this moment, he knows it can't possibly be the last time he'll ever see her. But that small possibility that it may be, if he does nothing, scares the shit out of him.

So, he reaches into his pocket and grabs his phone, "You may need my phone number, for personal matters. Like, in case you can't find Clarke and need reassurance she's okay."

"Marcus," she hesitates and shakes her head side to side.

"Oh no," he tells her, "don't say my name that way. You pain me."

"I have Google and I'm sure your office number is on that," she tells him as she holds her hands behind her back.

"Abby," he begins and something in her wakes up, like every time he says her name it gets a little more powerful, stirring inside her, "look I'll give you my phone number, and I won't ask for yours. You make the call if you so choose to."

His voice is calm and persuasive, and she realizes very quickly that this is someone she could slip into being comfortable with too easily. And it irks her.

"Marcus this was a good night-"

"It was…”

"But, you're Clarke's boss-"

"A minor roadblock."

"You're never going to give up are you?"

"Afraid not."

They stand alone on the balcony, and Abby stares up at his dark eyes. Dark eyes that know they've _won_. He smiles boyishly as she reaches into her purse, grabbing her phone, unlocking it and turning it over to him. Without the slightest hesitation, he snatches the phone from her hands and begins inserting his information. After he double checks he's given her the right number, he hands her back the thin phone.

"If I say you make the best god damn brownies I've ever had my whole life, will that make you call faster?" he smirks.

And Abby can't help as a cackle erupts from her throat, "afraid flattery will only get you so far."

"What if I say my daughter finished them in one sitting?" he teases.

"I'd say you need to watch how much sugar she consumes in a night," she smiles up at him.

"That your medical opinion, Doctor Griffin?"

Abby thanks God this man never appeared at the hospital because hearing him call her by her title has stopped all mental thinking ability. But she hates _losing_ this game of flirtation. So she raises her phone quickly, and before Marcus can understand what's happening a flash goes off blinding him.

All he hears is, "Just needed a picture. Goodnight, Marcus."

And although he pries his eyes open from the flash, they take too long to adjust to his dark surroundings. To his regret, she's gone. But she's real, and she's beautiful, and she's funny, and she's smart, and she's unlike anyone he's ever met. And the stories Clarke has mentioned replay in his head like a highlight reel now that he knows the way her face looks only inches from his. And that's all Marcus needs to pocket this memory away, and go meet his daughter for midnight breakfast.

* * *

He is going crazy. Unbearably, and wildly, crazy. He’s on his phone enough as it is. But waiting for the girl who haunts his thoughts and dreams for the past week to call, has made him a mad man. He checks in the morning before he’s lifted a finger out of bed. He checks as he drives to work, which is not safe he knows. He checks before and after every meeting. He checks while he eats lunch. It’s just sad at this point.

It’s been a week and five days. Practically two weeks and not a peep. Not even a quick two rings and then give up phone call. Not even a fucking text message. He begins to think maybe he did give her the wrong number. Or worse, maybe she just wasn’t that into him. But what a load of shit that is. _She was definitely into me_ , he thinks. _God you do have a big ego._

The worst part was his daughter knew too.

“Okay,” Octavia had bothered him the weekend after the museum party, “who is she? Tell me now.”

She walked into his bedroom and towards him as he rolled over on his side of the bed at nine o’clock p.m.. He was already in his flannel pajama bottoms, and random concert t-shirt, still damp from his shower earlier. He reached for the remote on his nightstand and paused the television show he was sure he wasn’t paying attention to at this point.

“You’re acting weird,” she scolds him as she sits down snatching his phone, poorly hidden underneath one of his pillows, “moping around with your phone in hand all the time. You’re bumming me out. Just call the poor girl.”

Marcus sits up and sighs looking at his teenage daughter, debating whether or not he should be honest with her. They’ve always been close. Octavia even told him when she had her first kiss because he was who she talked to about those things. He played all roles of parenthood. But, discussing his dating life was always strange because he tended to keep it so far from _their_ life now. Flings never made it passed Polis city limits.

But as her eyes look up at him pleadingly, he decided she should know, “Octavia I’m the poor girl.”

“What?” she asks him.

He throws his head back against the cushion of his headboard and closes his eyes, “I don’t have her number, she has mine. And-“

“And she hasn’t called you,” Octavia nods cutting him off, “well isn’t that different for you,” she laughs tossing his phone back in his lap.

His eyes flash open, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Octavia sits pretzel style and tightens her ponytail before explaining, “I’m fifteen years old dad, not stupid. I know you date, and you know… other adult things,” she mumbles, refusing to make eye contact with him for a brief second.

Kane’s squeezes his eyes closed in embarrassment, “Oh God Octavia, get on with it please.”

“What I’m saying is,” she forces herself to keep talking through the awkward topic of their conversation, “you’ve only brought you know who home. But-“

“You can say her name Octavia,” he mumbles, “it’s not like she’s Lord Voldemort.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “if I could finish please!”

Marcus opens his eyes and lets her continue.

“I am your daughter, and I love that you, my single father, no longer bring home different women every weekend. But I also know that women are like,” she puts up her finger towards her mouth and then proceeds to make gagging noises, “attracted to you.”

“Very funny,” he shoves her knee with his foot.

She makes one more gagging noise before clearing her throat and continuing, “I also know that it takes someone really special for you to be _waiting_.”

Kane meets the eyes of Octavia, and he sees a genuine look of concern.

“Hey,” he reaches out to grab her hand, “I couldn’t wait for Callie forever,” he half jokes.

“I know,” she sighs, “Next time you want to ask someone to move in with us, at least let me meet them more than twice.”

Kane’s eyes fall, and he nods in agreement, “I’ll remember that.”

“Now,” Octavia reaches for his laptop on the nightstand, “lets Instagram stalk this woman, I want to see if she’s worth it.”

Marcus laughs, before shaking his head, pushing Octavia back to her original position, “she doesn’t have any social media,” he says as he opens the top drawer on his night stand and pulls out a small strip of photography paper and hands it to her, “her name is Abby.”

Octavia slowly takes the photo booth pictures in her hands, and can’t help but smile, “you met her at the museum thing?”

“You could say that yes,” he bites his lip.

“I like the first one” she comments, “but what’s with the rest? You can’t even see her! Or you.”

She hands him back the sacred photo strip that proves that night was real and he puts it back in the drawer. He picks up his phone and Googles Abby’s name like the one time he did in his office. He tries not to stare at her portrait photo from the hospital website and hands it to Octavia.

Her eyes immediately run over Abby’s features and Octavia concludes the obvious, Abby is beautiful, but then she read her biography, “She’s Chief of Surgery? _Holy shit!_ Get wrecked dad what are you doing with your life? Not saving children’s lives, that’s what.”

“I know, she’s amazing,” he sighs, “I don’t know how I messed up!”

“Wait,” Octavia says as her thumbs scroll down the web page, “home girl is married dad,” she shoves the photo of Abby hugging a child, zooming in on her wedding ring clad on her left hand.

“No, she’s not,” he whispers, “that pictures old.”

“How do you know?” Octavia asks.

“Her daughter is an intern at the office, Clarke, she told me.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Octavia clicks off his phone and tosses it to the side of the bed, “her daughter works as an intern for you?!”

Marcus slowly slides down the bed, trying to cover himself under the blankets, “yes.”

“Well that’s why she hasn’t called you!” she rolls her eyes and stands up, “Honestly dad I thought you were smarter than this. If you want to go on a date with Abby, you’re going to need to _find her_. She’s a doctor, which means her morals are generally in the “do good no harm” place. But hey internships don’t last forever right?” Octavia smiles before turning to leave the room. Leaving Marcus with running thoughts on how he can make his obvious planned meeting with Abby, look like a coincidence.


	7. The Power Of Coincidence Or Fate

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Turns out you actually need time in order to plan a master scheme at tricking a woman into a date. Time of which Marcus did not have. Not to mention, he had to put forward a great deal of discretion towards a particular intern turned secretary. Clarke had not asked him personally of her mother, and her attitude towards him had not changed. So either Abby said nothing to her daughter, or Clarke was one hell of an actress. Needless to say, he could not ask Clarke why the  _ hell _ Abby hadn’t called him yet.

As the next few days passed by quickly, the more occupied his brain was with work, the less occupied it was with the woman working a fifteen-hour shift twelve minutes northeast of his office. Yes, twelve minutes driving by car. At least, that’s what Google had told him the one time he typed Polis Children’s Hospital in his maps app, sitting at his desk. With the launch of a new website from one of the companies he managed, he was lucky to scarf down a protein bar for lunch for the past three days.

Three days of non-stop calls, quick promotion changes, threats to the third party companies that owned small and large billboards across Polis if they didn’t meet their deadline. Friday afternoon was a godsend to him and his team, including Clarke, who had directed him and kept his demeanor in check with every quick consultation to and from his office. 

At noon the website for a locally loved retail boutique, now able to sell online, went live. By noon thirty, one-third of their inventory was sold out. Marcus felt accomplished, and the team was gifted with sweets from the bakery three blocks down. After asking Clarke to save Octavia two beignets, he answered one final phone call in the conference room from the shops' founder thanking him for everything, and finally, he made a trip to the restroom.

What he was not expecting was to open the restroom door after he’d finished, and catch the profile of Abigail  _ God damn _ Griffin walking back into the elevator. He cursed his feet for not moving faster, and his lips for not yelling anything, as he watched the elevator doors close shut on him. He turned to the other two elevators, to see one was on its way down and the other barely on its way up.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he hissed as he shoved open the metal door to the stairwell and began racing his way down all seventeen flights. Boy did his lungs burn by the time he read “Tenth Floor” on a sign. He groaned, and practically shoved a young man leisurely on his way up, as he begged his feet to continue wobbling down the cement stairs.

To his greatest pleasure, he finally made it to the ground floor and swung open the metal door to a decent crowd of people. He was sure he was sweating, looking extremely foolish. His eyes scanned every persons face, until he saw the back of her head, hair half up with a butterfly clip, clutching her brown bag as she excused her way to the front revolving doors.

His head felt light, and his abs  _ hurt _ , but he ran once more towards her. He watched as she pushed her way through the revolving doors, and turned right. She never looked around, and never looked back.

“Dear God,” he mumbles underneath his breath as he too pushes through the revolving doors, “please God.” He finds himself on the sidewalk and immediately looks right hoping to catch sight of her even the slightest of bits. If he can get a hint at where she is, he can continue seeking her out. Planned coincidences be  _ damned _ .

But he doesn’t need a hint; he doesn’t need a clue because she’s standing still in front of a young girl in a green uniform, Girl Scout cookies in tow behind her. He was never more thankful for thin mints, until now.

He watched her hand over cash and insist the mother and daughter keep her change. Finally, when she stuck the box in her bag and started walking down the street once more he approached stealthily from behind her, “Thin Mints instead of Caramel Delights, seriously?”

Abby not impressed by the mystery man's comment, began to turn to give some much-needed sarcasm. Only to be halted on the corner of the block, rendered speechless by Marcus Kane. He looked different in broad day, but that smell she’s been trying to sniff from her white dress of that night, is his dead give away. His eyes are a lighter brown in the sun, and his arms seem larger when in a solid black t-shirt. She doesn’t miss the low hang of his dark blue denim jeans, or his feet in black leather sandals. A style choice for men she didn’t understand but didn’t bother her too much. His tan skin showed his appreciation for the sun, so Birkenstocks shouldn’t have surprised her that much.

Marcus agrees she looks different in the day as well. Her hair is golden honey in the sun, with slight tints of blonde, and long wispy bangs falling from her clip to frame her face. Her cheekbones are sharp and dewy. While her lips shine with balm, and her eyes are accented with sleek mascara. He refrains from asking if white is her favorite color because she’s wearing a tucked in white V-neck top. Her light washed jeans hug her hips but fit very loose from her legs and are rolled up at the ends. He would later learn these were called boyfriend jeans, and they were her favorite pair. 

“Marcus,” she says with a small nervous smile. Memories from the night they’d met rush through her mind. Memories she had kept to herself. Memories that she wished would be the end of her time with Marcus Kane. How very wrong she was.

“Two weeks today,” he runs a shaking hand through his hair, cooling down the sweat that has built up in his roots. Her eyes immediately fall, and her lips purse out in anxiousness. He then thinks that if she really wasn’t interested in him, the last thing she needs is someone she’s trying to let down easy, badgering her with questions. So he takes a small step back, and swallows the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry to catch you on the street. I just-“ he stumbles to find the right words, her eyes never lifting to his, continuing to hurt his heart, “nevermind. If you didn’t want to call me, then I understand. And I am sorry for whatever this is that I am doing right now.”

He can sense that ugly tenderness that runs through one’s entire body when something has made them sad, and they don’t want to show the world exactly how sad. It’s that feeling when you’re going down a steep roller coaster, or hill, the g-force gives you a state of queasiness -- But this time it takes much longer to go away. 

He waits for her to say something, but she picks at her fingernails, shifts her feet, and breathes in heavily. Marcus nods slowly, retrieving her silence as the answer to his two-week long question. With that, he turns around, bites his lip wanting to drive out the sadness with pain, and begins his way back from where he followed her.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” her voice suddenly pipes up behind him, and he’s ashamed at how fast his body turns back to her. She’s looking at him like he’s absolutely destroyed her as well, “it’s that I couldn’t,” Abby sighs. She walks closer to him until he can smell coconut and floral scents wafting from her skin.

“Clarke,” he states, as a matter of fact, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t want to affect her work,” she tells him, “I can’t do that and jeopardize everything she’s gotten so far.”

“Abby,” he reaches out to grab her fidgeting hands, they feel small and soft in his, “I want to see you again. If you simply can not stand my guts after one date, I will leave you alone, and nothing,” he leans down, “nothing will jeopardize Clarke’s work.”

Abby rolls her neck and shuts her eyes slightly groaning, “you can’t know that Marcus.”

“Yes I can,” he tells her, his voice low, pulling at the strings of her core, “now make a move Abby,” he whispers and the world has drowned around them, all he sees is the different hues of brown in her eyes, “please.”

It’s then that Abby remembers just how different she’s been the past two weeks. For one, she still had the photo strip from that night in her purse, inside her wallet. Not a smart place to put something you didn’t want to be reminded of every time you purchased something. She became comfortable with looking at it alone in her office, and it gave her the courage to bring out her phone and type something and then delete it seconds later. A constant cycle she went through late at night, and midday. 

He had gotten in her head, and the horribly blurred photo she’d snapped of him didn’t help. It was too easy to access, and even more so, too easy to remember that night. Not only the feeling of lightness but the feeling of deep comfort. It was hard for Abby to continue her weeks with her typical schedule. And deep down, she knew she taunted fate by coming to the office, to speak with Clarke even for a brief moment. 

So now, Abby tucked her bottom lip under her top, and takes a look around them, hoping she doesn’t see her daughters face in the scarce crowd of people going from here to there. Talking to Clarke about the possibility of dating her boss, was a conversation Abby did not want to have with her twenty-year-old daughter. There was no telling how Clarke would react because Abby had not been on a date with another man since well before Clarke was born. Her dating days had ended with Jake, and now were being asked to be resurrected with Marcus.

“Clarke can’t know because there’s no point in telling her if I do end up finding you extremely aggravating by the end of the night,” she tells him lifting her chin. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he can barely comprehend that _he_ _won_ , essentially.

“Okay,” he smiles as both his hands leap to the back of his neck and into the blades of his shoulders, he can hardly contain his nerves, as a jittery feeling he’s never felt before runs from his heart to the ends of his fingertips.

“And we’re not going to call it a  _ date _ ,” she tells him sternly, and his shoulders fall a little bit, “I’m not ready for that… and it will be harder to hide from Clarke.”

Marcus nods, appreciating her honesty but also sensing her guard. For a woman who he believes  _ must  _ get asked out, he’s surprised by her hesitation to move forward on inquiries like himself. Then he remembers something that makes him feel so incredibly stupid. The reason besides Clarke that she might have purposefully avoided him. But, he shouldn’t know that reason, should he? He shouldn’t know that she lost her husband, a husband that she must have loved so much to be wary now. So, he was determined to turn this advancement from a typical dating route to one that would make her feel like he was her friend before anything else. 

“Okay no  _ date _ will be involved in our first outing together,” he smiled at her warmly, letting his eyes roam over the natural peach in her cheeks from the sun, “how does early Sunday sound to you?”

“I picked up a shift tomorrow and Sunday,” she shakes her head at his proposal and then counters, “what about Wednesday night?”

“My daughter has a volleyball scrimmage that night,” he shakes his head and reaches for his phone in order to see his calendar. Abby watches quietly, waiting for him to find a date that works for him. “So …” his voice trails off softly, “next weekend? God, that seems like light-years away.”

Abby is well aware of herself to know that if they meet a week and some from today, she will find excuses to back out. The anxiety of waiting will make her rethink if she should be going out with him at all. And she does want to see him again, soon, especially after this encounter. Truth be told, Abby couldn’t trust herself with things she desired, especially when she didn’t know if she was allowed. And what a ridiculous statement, because she knew Jake, and he would have wanted her to give a chance to the things she thought would bring her joy. Or in this case excitement of the unknown. She was walking into this thing with Marcus, fully unaware of the different paths and roads that it could lead to. And that was exciting for someone whose life at this moment in time, for the most part, revolved around a work schedule.

“Today’s my day off,” she pipes up and his head lifts from his small screen, where he continued to find a time slot that would be large enough for quality time, “when do you get off work?”

“Not until well after 7,” he frowns, “I have a few international phone calls. What about a late dinner?”

“You’ll be exhausted,” she reaches out to comfort him, lightly grasping his forearm and she feels him tense under her fingers. Abby’s hand falls slowly down his arm, and Marcus can't hide his rising heart rate. But, her eyes fall with disappointment as she goes on, “and I’m going to get my nails done later tonight, I tried one last bribe at getting Clarke to go with me, but she refuses,” Abby rolls her eyes.

Marcus doesn’t give it much thought before he blurts out, “I’ll go with you!”

Abby’s eyebrow raises and she bites back her chuckle, “to the salon?”

“What like they only allow women in? I do have a teenage daughter you know,” he teases her.

“I mean,” Abby is at a loss for words, “that’s an odd place to have our first …” her voice fades at the thought of calling it a date. She should feel weird about the choice, but at the same time, his complete state of nonchalant makes her oddly happy. “Oh what the hell,” she shakes her head back and forth, “ _ que sera, sera _ and all that right?”

“ _ Que sera, sera _ ,” he repeats as they both smile at each other.

If you were a passerby in this frame, the energy radiating off of them would be very hard to miss. So much so, that one’s body would feel uncomfortable coming within such close proximity of the two. It would feel intrusive to stare at the man and woman with bright eyes, only for each other, and even as a stranger, it would be obvious that this moment marked a place in time that was special. It marked the space where if you believed in fate, they began a new, fully awaited, path. And if you didn’t believe in fate, it marked a moment two human beings decided to create their own path.

“Okay then,” Abby told him, “I still have errands to run before, so I’ll see you later tonight.” She takes one last look at him in the daylight and finds the one prominent nerve that is pulsing in his neck. She wonders how it would feel like beating underneath her tongue, and then she can hardly believe she’s thought such a thing.  _ I shouldn’t be allowed to think that, without him knowing, especially while he’s still standing right in front of me _ , she tells herself. A blush has crept up her cheeks, and she hopes he doesn’t comment on it.

“I’ll be there,” he confirms, and also takes a moment to appreciate her in the sun. Another wisp of hair has fallen from her clip, and he wants to know what it feels like to place his entire hand at the back of her head. He wants to know how it feels to pull her in close and feel her body mold into his. Marcus refrains from shaking his head physically to stop his thoughts from continuing on, shaming him further. He feels embarrassed, even though he knows she can’t read his mind. And for that he is grateful.

“Oh,” she clears her throat reaching into her bag, “before I forget.”

Marcus watches as Abby grabs her phone, and navigates her way through the locked screen, home screen, and then contacts. She lifts the screen closer to her face and begins typing. It’s not until he feels a buzz in his hands that he connects the pieces together. His screen lights up with a text message that reads a simple line:

_ Abby Griffin _

As he begins saving her contact information, with a warm feeling in his chest, she tells him, “I’ll send you the location later.”

“Sounds good,” he answers.

“Bye, Marcus,” she grins up at him, feeling that same stir from the inside of her chest from the night they met, as she starts turning around.

“Bye, Abby,” he returns her sentiment and begins his way back to his office.

As he walks through the glass doors, and through the small lobby, a smile still plastered on his face, Clarke pipes her head up. “You seem cheery,” she comments as her fingers keep typing an email.

He attempts to cool his demeanor, “It’s a good day.”

Clarke shrugs, “Well I guess you’re not wrong, I got out of a mani pedi date with my mom. Thank God.”

Marcus laughs nervously and increases his walking pace, trying to hide behind the wooden panel as fast as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll be happy to know that we're heading full speed into the next part of this story. No more wandering around this relationship. Also, thank you for reading!! Here's to what's to come for Marcus and Abby's first non-date date.


	8. The Night Abby Sees Marcus

Clarke peeks her head into Marcus’s office at 5:15 later that day. Her tote is falling off her shoulder as she says, “I’m heading out, I set up the conference call system from the meeting rooms to route here for your calls. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Marcus looks up from his phone, “Thank you, Clarke, have a good weekend. Take some of those extra sweets with you or I’ll be forced to eat them.”

“Already ahead of you,” she laughs, “I saved me and my mom chocolate croissants, they're her favorite. See you!”

Marcus gives Clarke one last lazy smirk, nodding before she turns around and shuts off the lobby lights behind her. Leaving him in his dimly lit office, looking down at the text message he’d received only moments before Clarke walked in.

**Abby Griffin**

_Meet me on the corner of 7th and Broadleaf_ . _8 p.m._  

His thumbs twiddle above the touch screen, debating how to reply. It shouldn’t be this hard. So he types:

 _See you there :)_  

Then remembers Octavia always giving him shit for his improper use of emoticons. So he deletes the smiley face and settles on the to the point, and less enthusiastic:

 _Okay, see you there._  

To which, if she asks about his bland response, he can always blame his lack of expression skills through texting. 

The night goes on, and he handles his business, thanking his last client for ending early. Leaving him with enough time to make his way to meet Abby without rushing. Their meeting spot is not worth him driving and trying to find parking on the side of a busy city road. So he decides he’ll take the stroll, and hope she’s there when he arrives. 

He wasn’t nervous as the actuality of their time together starts to settle in. He was a little scared, but mostly because he was afraid he’d say the wrong thing and she’d be turned off by him. When he turns onto _Broadleaf_ from _2nd_ street, his phone alerts him. 

**O**

_Don’t be weird. And DON’T forget my beignets!!!_  

Marcus groans, not because Octavia was wishing him luck on his non-date date, but because he did forget her beignets. He decides he’ll just run up to the office when he gets back to his car, and grab them before heading home. Although he is not the biggest fan of the large building alone in the dark, he knows Octavia will have his head if he shows up empty handed. 

He checks his watch and sees he’ll arrive just on time, and he’s not wrong when he turns the corner on _7th_ street, and sees her casually leaning against one of the brick walls of a premium grocery store scrolling through her phone. She’s wearing the same thing from earlier that day, but then again so is he.  

Her head lifts at the sudden presence of him at her side, and his knees almost go weak when she greets him with a large smile.

“Right on time,” she tells him, “I guess you’re off to a good start.” 

“Hello to you too,” he says and wants to embrace her in some way, feeling as if although this is their first formal outing, he’s known her well enough to encroach her space naturally. But he suppresses that want to the back of his mind, and instead leans his shoulder on the wall next to her, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

“How were your calls?” she asks tilting her head towards him, her eyes find the same nerve in his neck from their encounter earlier.

“Quick,” he retorts, “and your errands?”

“Not as quick,” she chuckles before straightening up, “come on it’s just down this way, and there’s no backing out now.” Her eyes lift to meet his, and there’s a playfulness hiding behind them that he feels as she turns her back and starts walking down the sidewalk. 

Marcus increases his strides to catch up to her and finds it easy to fall into step with her. The air of the night has a cool breeze, and for that he is grateful. The city life has not stopped but is not as chaotic as the work day. He tries his best not to look down at her the entire time they walk, but he can’t help but sneak a few glances. They pass by people on the streets, and he feels his blood boil when men in expensive suits eye Abby with flirtatious smirks. Something has awakened this primal behavior of possession in Marcus. Which is ludicrous to him, because they haven’t even made it to the middle of their night yet. 

He’d felt protection for his daughter. He’d felt natural carnal for women he’d never loved. But he had never felt solicitous of what the woman he was seeing was thinking. And even more so, what she was thinking of him. Because truth be told, he always knew what women were thinking of him, bad and good. Whether they thought he was handsome and wanted to have a night in a hotel room in Polis, or whether they thought he was a cutting edge businessman.

Needless to say, he was never possessive of any woman he was seeing, because that meant he had to care what they thought, above what he thought of himself, or in actuality what his daughter thought of him. He had to care if they thought him above the man in the three thousand dollar Armani suit slowing down to basically eye fuck the woman he was supposed to be out with! And to his greatest astonishment, he did care what Abby thought of him, every passing second. 

So when she reached out to tentatively grab the ends of his fingers, barely brushing each other's skin, he was thankful she answered his anxious curiosity. “Sorry, I couldn’t stand if another suit flashed his Rolex at me,” she quietly told him, now leading him through an indoor plaza. 

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t wear mine then,” he joked and almost regretted it until she squeezed his hand and moved her fingers a bit more towards his palm. “But in all honesty, I also didn’t think you’d want our first outing repairing my knuckles. I’m sorry, I should’ve said something if you felt uncomfortable. I never want you to feel that around me.” 

Abby looked up to find his jaw tense, and his eyes darken. She saw the way he blamed himself so easily for her discomfort, and it made her want to stop them in their tracks. “I think you’ll find I am too comfortable around you,” she tells him as they finally approach the front door of the salon.

As her fingers slip from his, he doesn’t mind the loss of touch, because something tells him it wouldn’t be the last time. He holds the door open for her and the aroma of essential oils and soothing music immediately hit his senses. He can’t remember the last time he’d taken time off from work to indulge in any personal care and decides immediately that Abigail Griffin is a good thing for him. Even if she doesn’t know it yet. ( _She does inherently know it._ ) 

They make their way to the front desk, and a young woman smiles, “Are you the couple’s massage for 8:15?” she asks with no lack of confidence. 

Both adults tense up next to each other, and Abby opens her mouth to deny but is so flustered by the question she can’t get a syllable out of her throat. Marcus, on the other hand, ducks his head, nervously running his fingers over his beard and above his top lip. But then he pipes up, “Not that I was aware of,” he turns to look at Abby, “are you trying to get me naked on our first-” 

“I did not sign us up for a couple’s massage!” she buries her face in her hands, and Marcus can’t help but laugh at her embarrassment. Abby lifts her head and places her hands firmly on the dark wooden counter before repeating to the clerk in a calm tone, “I did not sign us up for a couple’s massage.” 

The girl on the other side of the counter looks frightened, understanding her mistake fully, “Sorry I just thought because-” 

“It’s fine,” Marcus cuts off the poor rambling woman. 

“I had an appointment for two under Griffin,” Abby mutters, as the clerk clicks around in her database until she looks up nodding. 

“Nails for Abby and Clarke Griffin …” her voice trails off as she meets the eyes of the older man, confusion only making itself more prominent. 

“Clarke was my daughter, who-” Abby starts at the same time that Marcus says, “I’m Marcus, not Clarke,” the two adults try to explain to the girl who just shakes her head and puts up her hand stopping the two of them. 

“I get off in fifteen minutes. It’s been a long day,” the young lady begins as she walks over to them, starting to lead them behind the lobby, “Please leave all cell phones in the-” 

“See I can’t do that I’m a doctor if I get a call-” 

“Well no one’s immediate lives are in danger, but I run a company-” 

“ _Again_ ,” the lady cuts them off, “it’s been a long day. If you can’t leave your cell phones in your respected cubbies, then please place them on vibrate or silent, as to not disrupt the rest of our clients.” She pushes open the blurred glass door, “Enjoy. And for the record maybe you two should schedule a massage, it will help with the nerves.”   

Both their mouths fall, as they watch the lady shut the door and disappear. 

“You totally scheduled us for a couple’s massage,” Marcus teases, “it’s okay to admit, you seem like a woman who knows what she wants.” 

“I am a woman who knows what she wants,” Abby tells him without missing a beat, “but what we want, is often at odds with what’s _right_.” 

And hell if that doesn’t shut him up. 

They meet the nail technicians at the large massage chairs that also serve as a small hot tub for their feet. And Marcus doesn’t hesitate to kick off his sandals, roll up his jeans, and reach over to grab a small cookie from the tray that sits between his and Abby’s chairs. Abby takes more time to undo the straps on her heels, and find a place to set her purse before she can roll up her jeans, and slip her feet into the perfectly hot water. 

“Any coffee, tea, water, cider, or wine?” a man approaches them with his tablet in hand. Marcus is surprised by the excellent customer experience of this place. He was not expecting the salon, which he now actually understood served as a spa, to be this authentic. 

“Do you guys still carry that pineapple cider?” Abby asks as she lets down the hair previously up in a clip, down to join the rest of her locks. She runs her fingers against her scalp, massaging out the built up tension and pain from having it half up all day. 

“Absolutely,” the man nods and turns to Marcus, “And for you sir?” 

But Marcus is watching Abby fall into a comfort level that makes him want to scoot their large chairs closer together. She’s oblivious to his stare, as she finishes running her hands through her loose waves, and grabs the color palette for her nails. So although he wants something a hell of a lot stronger than cider, he tells the man “I’ll have the same,” and swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Why is this is always so hard to decide?” he hears her mumble, and can’t help but chuckle. The nail technician has started scrubbing away at his dead skin, and he feels incredible guilt because it had been a long long long time since he’d done this. To be fair it was only his second time, the first being with Octavia on her thirteenth birthday. 

“Why don’t you let him choose,” Abby’s aesthetician says with a sly smirk. 

Abby can’t help but eye the young lady suspiciously before turning her head tentatively to Marcus. He has taken to adjusting the settings on his massage chair quite seriously, before sighing in contentment, and laying his head back against the soft cushion. She watches as his arms lay loose on the sides of his chair, and even then they look toned. Her eyes skim the way his beard travels down the beginning of his neck and then is properly shaved off. _I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before_ , she thinks, and then immediately shuts her eyes in humiliation. 

“Marcus,” she says softly, and his eyes open from their rest, as his head turns lazily to her, a small soft beam at his lips. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

“Do me a favor,” she tells him as she begins handing over the color palette, “choose for me. Consider it test number two.” 

She doesn’t miss the raise of his eyebrow as he takes the colors from her and then begins looking through the different gradients.

“Well,” Marcus starts, “you don’t seem like the type of person who wears neon, or glitter, so we’ll discard these.” He looks over at her to seek her approval, and she nods leaning her chin on her palm, continuing to watch him. “Now I believe you to like both bold and subtle colors, but I don’t necessarily see you wearing orange or yellow, so we’ll not have that.” 

“You’re not wrong,” Abby comments, and he continues switching between different slides of color. 

“So I’ve settled on two,” he tells her in a low voice, “but the question is, what kind of woman do you want to walk out of here tonight?” he raises his eyes at her, and she holds her breath at how dark they look. “Do you want to wear this one?” he lifts a soft nude tone in rose quartz, “Or this one?” he lifts a bold dark red tone in cherry. 

Abby forgets that they aren’t the only one’s in the room, as she feels herself leaning in closer to him, “I asked you to choose.” 

“Well,” Marcus clears his throat, “I think the reputable Dr. Griffin would be inclined to wear this subtle pink. It’s delicate, graceful, and feminine. But if you’re asking me which color I would personally love to see on the fingers … on me, I’d say either.” 

And not even the aestheticians can help the heat they feel flood to their cheeks, as they bow their heads down. Luckily, the man brings their cider and the tension is cut with the taste of alcohol. Marcus tells himself to try and control his flirtation and desire to tempt Abby. She was right when she said it just flowed from him, but it only did so _with her_.  

He hands her back the palette, and she says, “There’s a strength in daintiness,” before telling her nail technician she’ll color them rose quartz. 

The night trails on and a certain rhythm begins between the two. They drink, talk without much effort, and let themselves be led throughout the night by each other. There are no awkward silences, no anxiousness, and no realization of time. Marcus opts out of a manicure and instead takes the time to inquire one of the specialists on the products they have along the walls. He knows his daughter, and although she's not one for _all_ the “girly” things in the world, she does like skincare. And is that really such a bad thing?  

Abby can’t help but watch as he listens intently to the woman explain moisturizers, and toners, and serums to him. His lack of one minded interests continues to surprise her. She watches as he asks if he can call his daughter, and the specialist obliges. And that's when Abby realizes, they haven't exactly talked about their life in depth.

 

He knows that she's been working at the children's hospital for about ten years now, but only in the past five had she been Chief of Surgery. He knows that her favorite movie is Practical Magic, and Dreams by The Cranberries is definitely in her top all time favorite songs along with Fast Car by Tracy Chapman. He knows she lives in a cozy bungalow styled home in Ton DC, and that she absolutely _hates_ when people tailgate her or don't use their turning signal.  

She knows that he’s tried to give up drinking soda numerous times, but can't ever stick it through perfectly. She knows that he started AMS three years ago, and got a really high something he called Series A. She knows that his favorite movies are The Batman Trilogy with Christian Bale, and she almost wants to gag because of course, they are. She finds out quickly that he loves live music, but she kind of already knew that by Clarke’s tales of him showing up in another concert t-shirt to work on sparse meeting days. Lastly, she knows that he lives in Arkadia, which quite frankly surprises her. Arkadia was more lively than Ton DC, but it wasn’t city life either. But when she found out he lived in the hillside, it all made sense. Houses went for millions out there. 

As her eyes wander over his body frame, she admires his broad shoulders, that also look like the softest of clouds. He feels like warmth to her, and she hasn't even been in his arms yet. Abby listens as he goes back and forth between his daughter on the phone and the woman answering his questions. Just as the UV machine is drying her last coat, he walks over to her rolling his eyes. 

“That is the last time I keep my daughters' interests in mind,” he sighs as she stands up. 

“No, it’s not,” she smiles and he chews the inside of his cheek because he knows she's right, “what'd you end up getting her?” 

“Well it started off with a moisturizer and then somehow turned into a kit with four other things, I don't know,” he shrugs, “I serve at the pleasure.”

“She's your daughter Marcus, not the president,” Abby laughs as they make their way towards the front lobby. They get one final wave from the new woman behind the counter and go out into the world once again. It doesn't occur to Marcus until he's holding open the door to the entrance of the plaza that aside from Octavia his wallet hadn't been touched. 

“Abby,” he turns to her with wide eyes, “we didn't pay! Should we go back?” His eyebrow raises as his body already makes a one-eighty. 

“Marcus they have my credit card information, I already paid,” she laughs shaking her head, urging them to continue walking. 

“Abby,” Marcus says in a low tone, “you shouldn't have done that.”

“I technically invited _you_ Marcus,” she rolls her eyes annoyed.

Marcus merely watches as she begins walking ahead of him once more, and he can’t tell if he’s truly angry at Abby for paying their non-date tab, or if he admires her independence. He doesn’t get the chance to mewl over it too much because she hasn’t stopped to look if he was following her. He physically catches up to her, exactly how he feels like he’s been having to do mentally all night. 

But the second she sees him at her side, her shoulders fall releasing built up tension. Without thinking he grabs her right hand to investigate her fingernails. His thumb brushes the top of her hand, and he raises it towards his eyes. 

“Mmm should’ve gone with the red,” he murmurs letting her hand fall. 

Abby can’t help it as her neck twists around to him and her chin raises. Her eyes are glowing, and words are on the tip of her tongue to give him lip. But nothing is forming, only mumbles of incoherent beginning sentences. 

“I’m kidding,” he turns to her then, leaning in a bit closer, their noses almost touching. They bump shoulders, and both laugh as they stumble back into their step. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out to see one last message from Octavia thanking him. He clicks it off and slides it back in his jeans, remembering to pick up her beignets before he goes home. It’s nine thirty and he knows she won’t be asleep at any regular hour. 

“Octavia,” Abby says slowly, as if testing the name on her tongue, “that’s an unusual name, how’d you pick it?” 

It’s hard to miss the very apparent pause Marcus takes as he thinks of how he should answer Abby’s question. He brings his fingers to his lips, as they purse out in thought. Then he simply states, “I didn’t.” 

Abby nods hesitantly, allowing for the silence to convince Marcus to continue. He has subconsciously begun walking a few centimeters ahead of Abby, leading them in the direction of his office. She doesn’t mind, and he fails to ask if they have the same destination. 

“Octavia’s mother,” he starts again in a voice Abby can barely hear, “Aurora, named her.” 

All Abby can do is follow in silence, as the city noises become a lulling background to their conversation. She has many follow up inquiries, but can’t find the courage to ask them appropriately, or even politely. 

“Wow no questions,” his head barely looks back at her with a sad smile on his lips.

“I know what it feels like to be asked things you don’t want to answer,” Abby says looking down at her toes against the dimly lit cement. He slows down his pace, as they turn onto one of the main roads in the city, getting a full view of all the trees that are lit up with lights, and small theaters blinking their bulbs at them as well. 

It’s not a hard topic for Marcus to talk about, the beginning and end of it at least. There’s a bit of middle that he likes to keep only to himself and his daughter. The bit that shapes him to this day. But then again, he realizes that he’s never actually told anyone the story in _full_ , and maybe that’s why he’s hesitant now.  

“I met Aurora when I was in my late twenties,” he begins and Abby reached out to brush his palm with her fingers. They don’t hold hands this time, she just lightly strokes from the inside of his wrist, down his heart line, and back in rotations as he continues. “I had just graduated with my MBA, and we were celebrating at a bar, as you do. And Aurora,” he looks away from her as he says her name, “happened to be there as well.” 

Abby stares at him, lightly squeezing his hand before continuing her previous motions. 

“Needless to say, we spent the night together and I never saw or heard from her again. Nor, did I wish to. I get a call five years later, from the Polis Children’s Hospital, that _my_ daughter has been in a car accident involving a semi-truck and is in the intensive care unit.”  

“Octavia was the little girl from the winter crash of my first year,” Abby whispers more to herself, “how could I forget.”

“It was a long time ago Abby,” Marcus says in a cold voice, his jaw line has grown sharper if that was possible. 

“She wasn’t alone,” Abby shakes her head trying to remember that one night from many moons ago. She hardly notices when his fingers pull from her warm touch, and without realizing it, she hugs herself. 

“No, she wasn’t,” Marcus continues, “Aurora lived in the bayou on the outskirts of Arkadia, they were traveling home through Polis, but the roads were icy and the construction at that time was horrible. I got a call,” his voice cracks, “telling me that _my_ daughter was rushed to the ER and now is in induced a coma, until the bleeding in her brain stops.” 

Marcus takes a shaky breath, surprised by how unprepared to share the rest of this story, he feels. He is scared to continue telling the story to Abby, but yet the words also come from him like warm liquid. As if she was meant to hear it all along. 

“They kept saying that. _Your daughter, your daughter, your daughter_. As if the more times they said it the better it would register in my head. But, want to know what I told them?” his voice huffs, and he runs his fingers through his hair trying to shake off the knots in his stomach.  

“Only if you want to tell me,” Abby answers softly. 

“I told them that they had the wrong person and that I had no children, and I hung up.” 

Abby looks at him then, from the corner of her eyes, and sees him biting his lip, and scrunching his face in to keep the raw emotions at bay. 

“They called, and they called, and they called, and I never answered. At the time, I was living in the Bay area of San Francisco, working in Silicon Valley. I thought I was living the life I had dreamed.”

“And you never showed up,” Abby murmurs and Marcus turns frigid beside her, “I wasn’t the doctor on her case, but I heard through the grapevine, I remember now, the father never showed up.” 

Marcus looks down at her and can’t bring himself to look her in the eye too long. There’s not a look of anger or shock at his actions. There’s no disgust in her tone. Instead, he finds hints of curiosity and humanity. 

“I get home one afternoon, and there’s a four-year-old girl with a scar over her eye, and bruising on her neck, holding a tiny scrappy teddy bear, sitting with a social worker on my door steps. She looks like Aurora, but that gaze in her eyes, that … that was me. It only took that one second to know that she was mine.” 

Abby can’t help but reach for his forearm when his voice cracks. She holds onto it, as they continue walking through the oddly fresh summer night. 

“Aurora didn’t survive the accident, and I evidently was Octavia’s father.” 

“But there were three in the car,” Abby curls her fingers around his bicep, “I’m sorry if I’m remembering it wrong, but I’m fairly-” 

“No there were three, you’re right,” he answers her, finding her touch comforting, “Octavia has an older half brother, Bellamy. She would yell at me when I tried to put her to sleep, that she wanted Bellamy. Bellamy is the one that tucks her in, he’s the one that tells her stories, he’s the one that says goodnight.” 

Marcus stops talking and brings his palm up to hide his quivering lip.

“It must have been hard for them to be separated,” Abby comments as her other hand joins its place on his left forearm. 

Marcus looks lost in thought, and Abby gives him a few minutes to gather himself. They walk through the streets, without saying anything. Letting the words of Marcus’s past sink in. 

Abby begins tentatively, “It must also have been hard for you to transition to that role.” 

This causes Marcus to snap out of his far away state, “I tried to tell myself that. That I wasn’t fit to be a father. But it’s just an excuse Abby. In the end, it’s just an excuse. A frightened four-year-old needed me to _show up_ , while she fought alone in the ICU. I just needed to _show up_ , and I couldn’t do that.”

“Marcus,” Abby begins to console him. 

“I’m not the same,” he says sternly. As if saying it out loud will allow himself believe it. 

“No you’re not,” Abby tells him in an equally stern tone, “for the amount of time we’ve spent together, I can tell you that with confidence. I can see the way you love your daughter, Marcus.” 

He can’t help but pull away from her then, “but you don’t know … you don’t know what it took to get here.” 

Abby grabs his hand then pulling him to a stop. They’re alone in the middle of the sidewalk, the reflection of the stop lights against their skin. Neither of them, believing the tone or topic they have walked into so early in their relationship. A simple question, that revealed a depth so far in Marcus Kane. So dark, that Abby could see it still eating away at him. 

“Hey,” she tugs him to stand in front of her. His eyes wander every where but at her face, looking up at him with an emotion he doesn’t deserve. “There are things you don’t know about me yet either. And there are going to be questions we’re going to continue having for each other. But Marcus,” she says as her hand goes up to slowly cup his cheek, “ _I see you_. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s then that his eyes flash down to meet her gaze, and his left-hand moves to cover hers on his face. They are still, as the city moves around them. Their heartbeats are calm, and their minds have stopped racing. He fights the urge to run his thumb over her lower lip, and she tries not to place a hand on his chest. The red light turns green, and the cross walk lets them know they can move onto the next block. 

Abby slowly lets her palm run down his beard, before motioning them gently with her head to keep walking, “C’mon tell me about Bellamy.” 

Marcus nods, and Abby loops her arm through his. 

“Bellamy is strong, just like Octavia. Although, he is a bit more sensitive,” he chuckles, and Abby is glad to see his lips turn up at the ends, “but he doesn’t know that.” 

“How old is he?” 

“Right now, twenty-one,” Marcus answers her nonchalantly, “he’s a cadet at West Point.”

Abby can’t hide her surprise as she turns to him, “You say that so casually as if it isn’t one of the toughest academies in the world to get into.” 

Marcus grins, “Bellamy hates when I gloat about him. I think I’ve trained my voice to say any of his accomplishments in a _meh_ tone.” 

Abby laughs as Marcus shrugs his shoulders, thinking about the boy he hasn’t seen for a few months.

“Per his request!” Marcus adds, “Bell doesn’t like the attention.” 

“Mm wonder where he gets that from,” Abby bumps into his shoulder playfully, as Marcus bites his lip, enjoying her teasing. “So you raised the both of them then?” she asks. 

Marcus is reluctant to answer but does so regardless, “No. Bellamy was raised by his biological father and his wife. Not the best people. Then again neither was I. But once they realized Bellamy would be receiving Aurora’s full life insurance and savings since I declined Octavia’s half, they took that money and housed him until he left for the academy.” 

Marcus realizes they’re a few hundred feet away from his office, and time is running thin. He wishes she didn’t have to get up early for a shift, or that he didn’t have to trek an hour back to Arkadia. But he wouldn’t regret this night for any mundane unpleasantries, such as commute time. 

“They, however, did love to drop him off on the weekends, holidays, and every moment they could, once we packed our things and moved to Arkadia. So that was always something we could all look forward too.” 

Abby nods slowly, “So you did raise him. The other family gave him a place to stay but by the bare looks of it, I’d say you had more influence.” 

Marcus stops walking as they reach the entrance of his building, coming full circle from their meeting that afternoon. 

“He influenced me too,” he tells her smiling. 

Abby looks up at the skyscraper and then back to him. Their night has ended, but they’ve just begun. His dark eyes have more depth, now that she understands him in another light. Their conversation, unprompted to get to the bottom of things, has made her feel closer to him. And Marcus feels like he’s exposed himself, without feeling the ramifications of embarrassment. 

“Thank you, for a good night,” Abby tells him. 

“So did I pass, do I get another night?” He grins. 

Abby rolls her eyes, “Well you’re lucky I parked here, because if I didn’t, then I’d have some serious contemplating to do for you making me walk to my car alone in the dark.” 

Marcus can’t help it as he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair breathing in deeply, “Fuck that is lucky.”   

Abby loves the low tone of his voice saying profanities, and makes a future task to hear it again. Perhaps, surroundings being particularly different, but she doesn’t let her mind divulge from the present that much. 

Instead, she lifts herself up on her toes and kisses the tip of his chin. 

“May we meet again,”  she murmurs. 

And he can’t help himself, the words run through his ears incredibly mellow, so he repeats, “May we meet again.” 

She begins walking towards the parking garage entrance, clutching her bag. Before his hand grabs her arm and pulls her back, “I’m not leaving this to fate anymore Abby, we are meeting again, whether you like it or not.” 

Abby’s small girlish smile has turned into a full beam, “Okay, you know where to reach me, and I know where to reach you.” 

“Okay,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Marcus,” she tells him over her shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Abby,” he replies watching the woman he so quickly has begun to admire make her way safely to her car. 

He’s so lost in her, that he almost forgets to retrieve Octavia’s beignets.


	9. Juliet, Reese, Jackson

Abby wakes up the next day unbelieving of the previous nights' events. It’s twilight outside, and the beginning of the sun’s rays are seeping through her white curtained windows even though it hides behind the horizon. Her pillow smells like last nights shampoo and is she insane for thinking her bed is ten times more comfortable on this particular morning. She snuggles deeper into her comforter and stretches her toes, feeling her blood warming up from the deep slumber it had just risen from.

He’s the first thing she thinks about, as she lets her eyes flutter closed. His voice, his presence, his stupid perfect smile. Abby feels butterflies emerge in her stomach, as she remembers the brief feeling of his beard on her lips. In retrospect, she could have kissed his cheek, but at the moment it felt right to kiss him on the place her forehead barely reached.

Her alarm buzzes, a real time reminder that her shift is waiting for her at the hospital. But she doesn’t groan when her fingers find their way to silence the blaring ringtone. Instead, she delves deeper into her comforter as her eyes skim over the message sent to her only thirty minutes ago.

**Marcus Kane**

_I had a wonderful time last night. The feeling rolled over to this morning. I hope the same for you, have a good day Abby._

She almost drops her phone on her face, as she squeals very girlishly -- it was a sound she couldn’t remember making for _years_. Her toes curl, as thoughts ramble around in her mind trying to form a response. It’s six thirty in the morning, and a little piece of him tugs at her heart strings when she realizes he’s a morning person come hell or late night travel.

_The feeling is very mutual. You have a good day too._

She lets her thumb float over the send button, and then at the sound of Wilson’s usual entrance into her room in the morning, she presses send. The large golden roams over to her side of the bed and lifts his front legs to the edge of her bed, keeping him upright. His head lays on her thin flat sheet, and she swears his head tilts to the side. Wilson’s big black eyes are staring at her unmoving -- asking her to explain why she came in so late last night that he fell asleep by the bottom of the stairs waiting for her. And his follow up question being why she looked so sheepish now.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Abby murmurs but Wilson doesn’t change his face. He knows his human’s schedule. He knows when she leaves alone and when she comes back home alone. He knows she only comes back very late at night when she and Clarke have plans. But Clarke was at home with him. _He knows_.

“ _Laisse tomber_ ,” Abby huffs as she kicks off the comforter from her body, telling Wilson to _let it go_ . She swings her legs over to the edge of the bed and lets her feet hit the plush carpet of her bedroom. She roams to her closet and begins searching through blouses for work. Wilson, however, has not lost persistence as he follows her and watches her with the same all knowing face from before. Abby reluctantly looks at him from the corner of her eye, and tries to ignore the large dog as he stands completely still. But she can’t focus when the pet who usually just lifts himself onto the vacant bed lazily, occasionally raising his head to make sure his human has continued getting ready for work, is now _following_ her around. So she nervously picks a rose colored silk shirt, and turns her back on Wilson to grab black dress pants. But when she turns around he has not moved an inch.

“Ugh fine,” Abby whispers harshly as she discards her clothes next to her, kneeling down in front Wilson. Her fingers run through his soft hair, “ _Oui, peut-être que_ _je l'aime_ _. Bon,_ _il me plaît_ _peut-être un peu._ _Peut-être que_ _je l'aime_ _beaucoup._ ” A full translation of that being, “Yes, maybe I like him. Maybe I like him a little bit. Maybe I like him a lot.”

She doesn’t feel crazy when she talks to Wilson, and after she allows herself to say these things out loud -- it’s then that it becomes very real.

“ _Seulement_ _ne dis rien à_ _Clarke_ _s'il te plaît_ _,_ ” Abby quietly asks him not to tell Clarke as she kisses his forehead, grabs her clothes, and makes her way to her bathroom. To her comfort, Wilson jumps on Abby’s bed and continues his usual routine.   


* * *

 

Abby pulls into the hospital at eight that morning, happy to see the parking lot is sparse. The temperature still hasn’t gotten warm, and she smiles at the smell of dewy grass and fresh air. Usually, when she picks up a Saturday shift, the aura of the hospital is calmer. Although not by a lot, emergencies don’t just stop on the weekends. But she always sends a little plea to the big man every morning to not test her skills too much.

Her office is just as she left it last, except her resident has printed the research she asked for and laid it neatly in a tan manila folder on her desk. She decides she’ll make her rounds, and then spend lunch looking over the intimidating pile of paper begging to be trimmed down. But first, coffee.

The lounge is mostly empty except for a woman clad in scrubs who turns from her place in front of the refrigerator, Greek yogurt in hand.

“Hey, Abby,” the woman with blonde hair and blue eyes smiles.

“Juliet, I thought you were off this weekend,” Abby raises her eyebrow accusatorily and makes her way to the coffee pot, that to her greatest pleasure is still half full.

“One of my patients gave birth early,” Juliet answers as she plunges her spoon into the strawberry flavored breakfast, “before you rip my head off, _Chief_.”

Abby laughs, pouring steaming black coffee into her steel canister, “It’s not good that I see you all the time,” Abby shakes her head, “because _I am here all the time_.”

“Price we pay,” Juliet murmurs with her mouth full.

Both women take a seat at a small table, simultaneously crossing their legs over the other, enjoying their minimal breakfast. Abby sighs as the dark liquid warms her vocal chords, and continues to fill the room with a tasteful aroma.

“Baby was healthy?” Abby asks softly.

“Premature,” Juliet answers automatically, “which we already knew, so we were prepared. But for now he is stable and that’s all we can ask for.”

Abby senses her friend’s voice turn somber. Juliet had only been at the Polis Children’s Hospital for the past four years, a hire that Abby fought hard for against other viable options Juliet was offered. Abby immediately took to the medical fertility specialist, liking not only her vast knowledge and expertise but her heart. Something that was important to Abby amongst all hires. Now Juliet ran the Special Delivery Unit and had become one of Abby’s closest confidants.

“I’m glad, keep me informed if anything comes up,” Abby nods taking another sip of her coffee. She feels her phone buzz in her white coat, so she takes it out and reads the incoming messages with a smile already growing on her lips.

**Marcus Kane**

_Too soon to ask if you want to grab lunch?_

_Only if you’re not too busy_

_You know saving people’s lives and such …_

“Whoa!” Juliet giggles, “That’s a look I have not seen on your face … like _ever_.”

Abby covers her flushing cheeks from Juliet by replying with her phone directly in front of her:

_I’m sorry. I would if I could. I have to continue research today for a board meeting._

Then she shyly clicks her phone off, and places it on the table, looking down at her nails as they tap nervously against her phone’s glass screen. Abby refuses to look at her friend before composing herself, and just when she thinks she has, her phone screen lights up. But Juliet is quick to swipe it from under Abby’s palm.

Juliet reads out loud, “ _Too bad, I do owe you a burger. I’ll make it up to you soon enough. Good luck with the research._ ”

“Juliet I-”

“From Marcus Kane,” Juliet raises her own eyebrow, this time switching the accusatory look once directed at her, now directed towards her boss, “who the fuck is Marcus Kane?”

Abby snatches back the phone from Juliet’s palm and says, “Maybe I’d tell you if you didn’t snoop on your own accord, Ms. Burke!”

“Oh _bullshit_ , Abby,” Juliet laughs and as a nurse roams into the lounge, smiling at the two doctors and making her own cup of coffee, Juliet whispers, “you’ll tell me soon enough. But don’t let Jackson find out. He’s not as patient as I am.”

Abby agrees with that, thinking of her young resident in training, practically a son at this point.

“Speak of the devil,” Juliet murmurs, and Jackson walks in with a stuffed Tupperware lunch in hand, and a dark green looking drink in the other. Both Abby and Juliet watch as he avoids their curious stares. Jackson never brings lunch, or whatever that green thing is. He usually just eats from the cafeteria. They know this.

“That does not look appetizing,” Juliet comments, a playful smirk pulling at the ends of her mouth.

“Nathan has taken up meal prepping and super juices, please don't ask,” Jackson growls as he stuffs his lunch in the fridge, and turns to take a seat with the ladies at the table. He lifts the dense drink to his lips, and they watch as the sludge reaches his mouth. They don’t miss the clenching of his eyes, as he swallows the drink reluctantly.

“How much spinach did Nathan put in that?” Abby laughs as she slips her phone into her pocket.

Jacksons sour look hasn’t faded and he shakes his head disgusted, “nope, no, I can’t do it,” and gets up to dump all the liquid into the sink. He turns to the women, “I’m gonna go buy some actual breakfast, and then I’ll start my rounds, see you out there.”

They watch as he quickly makes his way out the door, not looking back. With a sigh, both women follow suit standing up, finally ready to go abouts their day.

But Juliet is needed back in the SDU while Abby is needed in the children’s rooms in the opposite direction. Juliet places a gentle hand on Abby’s shoulder before they part ways, “Let me know if I can help with any of your research, I know how important it is to you.”

Abby raises her lips to a small smile, and nods, “I will, thanks.”

She heads down the corridors to her first stop every morning. Abby will deny any and all questions of this bias if ever asked. But it’s true, she has a _favorite_ patient. Her favorite nine-year old girl is already up, watching morning cartoons, and eating cereal. Her bangs are falling over one of her eyes, and the clip she refuses to use is placed on the night stand by her bed.

“Good morning, Reese,” Abby smiles as she approaches the young girl.

“Morning Dr. Abby,” Reese answers as she stuffs another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

“How’d you sleep?” Abby asks taking a look at her chart to make sure nothing happened over night.

“Good, I guess. You don’t need to see while you sleep,” Reese rolls her eyes, focusing her attention back on the television. “Maybe this is a good thing, maybe I can just sleep my whole life.”

“Now you wouldn’t want to do that,” Abby teases, “there’s a whole world out there.”

“How’d _you_ sleep, Dr. Abby?” Reese changes the subject tactfully. It doesn’t pull one over Abby, but she allows it to happen. The phone weighing down her pocket reminds her of just how well she did sleep.

“Not too bad,” Abby shrugs her shoulders, putting Reese’s clipboard back in its rightful place. Then she reaches to grab the hair clip from Reese’s night stand, and just as she moves the little girl's reddish brown hair back, Reese swats her away.

“I don’t need it,” she moves Abby’s hands from her face again.

“Reese honey,” Abby begins softly before Reese grabs her hand more forcefully and tugs her fingers. Abby doesn’t like pushing Reese too far, so she lets her shoulders fall in defeat. But Reese has taken it upon herself to move her bangs out of her face, and bring Abby’s fingernails closer to her good eye to inspect.

“Pretty color,” she smiles at Abby, “you didn’t have these painted on Thursday.”

“That’s cause I went last night,” Abby tells her.

“But you told me Clarke hates going to get her fingers painted,” Reese comments suspiciously.

“Well I didn’t go with Clarke,” Abby quips, gently pulling her fingers away from Reese and snapping the clip to hold Reese’s bangs in place.

“ _Well I_ saw Dr. Juliet here last night, and I don’t think you’d take Dr. Jackson,” Reese begins, curiosity rising in her voice.

“Well maybe I went alone Reese,” Abby leans in to tap her nose, before discarding Reese’s trash in the bin by her bed. Reese stays quiet, pieces of information moving in her smart little brain. Abby tries not to get intimidated by the stare the young girl has unleashed on her -- barely blinking, arms crossed in front of her chest. First Wilson, now Reese, was Abby really that readable?

“You’d tell me if you went out with a _boy_ right?” Reese asks raising her eyebrow, “Because you told me that we’re always supposed to be honest, because me and you are like _best_ friends, but I don’t think you’re being honest Dr. Abby,” Reese shakes her head.  

“Wait,” Abby feigns surprise and places a hand over her heart, “did you just call me your _best_ friend.”

Reese raises her little hands to cover Abby’s mouth in embarrassment, “Don’t get used to it!”

Abby’s laughs are muffled by Reese until she lets them fall.

“If I tell you who I went out with last night, will you keep your clip on until your dad comes later? It will make him really happy.”

Reese’s mouth goes out into a pout as she contemplates Abby’s offer, before she concocts her own counter-offer, “I’ll keep my clip on until my dad visits _if_ you also show me a picture!”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” Abby murmurs as she brings out her phone, and searches for Marcus’s name on the internet, pulling up the same photo that Clarke showed her weeks ago. Before she hands it to Reese she sticks out her pinky, “promise you’ll wear it?”

Reese pulls out her own pinky interlocking with Abby’s, “promise.”

Then Abby hands over her phone to Reese’s waiting palms and watches as her eyes roam over the picture, analyzing every pixel. “His name is Marcus, and he’s very kind and funny -”

“He has a _beard!_ ” Reese squeals under a fit of giggles, as if it’s the most shocking thing about Marcus.

Abby can’t help her deep laugh from rumbling out of her, “yes, he has a beard.”

 

* * *

The day goes by fairly quickly, and the research surrounding meningioma has left her with knots in her stomach. It was a very tricky surgery to conduct, and even more so on a small human being. But Abby knew she could do it, she just had to make the board believe it as well. It’s not until she’s eating a snack later in the day that Jackson appears in her doorway.

“I can handle the evening shift solo,” he tells her, “if an emergency comes up, I can call you.”

Abby looks up from her stack of papers, “No Jackson,” she shakes her head, “I need to continue gathering information for this surgery, and-”

“Abby you’ve read almost every western and eastern medical journal available on her brain tumor-”

“And what if it’s _not enough_ ,” Abby’s voice slices his curtly, as she tightens her ponytail out of frustration. Jackson approaches her tentatively, before reaching to hold the hands that have started shaking from anxiety.

“The board will see its possible Abby,” he tells her softly.

“I hope so,” she tells him, gently removing her hand from under his and running them down her dress pants, straightening out invisible wrinkles.

“Go home,” Jackson prompts her again.

Abby nods wordlessly, sending him a brief smile before he makes his way out of her office. She takes one last look at her bold manila folder and shuts it closed, telling herself she's done all that she can so far. It's still not enough for her, but it's enough _for now_.

There are things Abby doesn't let stay in her head too long, and there are things that overstay their welcome. The inability to save her late husband was one of those things. The problem with the things that stay far too long in our minds, is that they manifest into something we can't recognize. Something we allow into ourselves, without knowing its true face. A thief, a phony, a child with a brain tumor that wouldn’t make up for Jake Griffin's death.

Sometimes someone's story is already written.

So for those who triumphed death, were they truly unsavable to begin with? And for those who were kissed by death, was there anything you could have done to stop it? Abby believed she paved her own path, and had the ability to make a choice at every turn. So instead of buying into the sudden availability of her evening, she told herself she could choose to go home and relax with Clarke or she could choose to call Marcus. She decided on the latter.

It rang in her ear, once, twice, and on the third--

“Hello,” he answered, and something about hearing him without seeing him, wondering where he was standing, or the unknowingness of how he looked as he spoke, made her heart pound.

“Hi,” Abby replied, a few delayed seconds later.

“Hi,” he said softly, and she knew no matter where he was, he was smiling, so she smiled too.

“I hope I didn't interrupt,” Abby began, her fingers picking at the hair tie holding her ponytail up.

“No, great timing actually, me and Octavia just got out of a movie,” Marcus explained.

Abby didn't want to imagine it as quickly as the imagery flew in her head, but she became nervous talking to him when his daughter could be practically beside him. She could be on speaker on his car, or he could have the volume up to hear her better, thus making her voice able to be heard by Octavia. There were so many variables that Abby told herself to just focus on the point of the call.

“Oh, was it good?” She asked.

“It was that new horror film. I've been blessed with a daughter who enjoys them and doesn't find them nearly as terrifying as I do,” she can practically see him provoking his daughter.

“They’re _not real_ scaredy cat,” she can hear Octavia telling him with typical teenage attitude.

“So we agree horror films during the daytime,” he continues, “my one request.”

“It was good,” she hears Octavia say louder and Abby freezes, realizing she can be heard by his daughter.

“I um-” Abby stutters, “well I’m glad.” She curses herself for her inability to continue speaking fluidly, “I got off work early, my fourteen-hour shift has been nearly cut in half. Thanks to my resident, Jackson.”

“Oh, well that’s great,” Marcus commented coolly, and if Abby were in the car he and Octavia were in, she’d be able to see the fifteen-year-old look at him incredulously. She’d see Octavia’s exaggerated hand movements, and her mouthing “ _seriously?_ ” at her dad.

“Yeah, I mean, cause I had told you yesterday that I was busy, but now I’m not, so,” Abby continued giving him a bit of a line hoping he’d catch it, and fill in the rest himself. Abby can’t hear the shove Octavia gives Marcus, or his quick head turn, motioning her to cut it out.

“Right, right,” Marcus murmurs, “I mean would you like to get together later on?”

“Yes,” she says a bit too quickly, “but still nothing too obvious, I haven’t exactly spoken to Clarke about anything in the past twenty-four hours,” Abby tells him honestly.

“Oh, of course, we could do something small, meet each other halfway in the city,” he offers.

“Are you sure? I feel like I’ve taken you away from Octavia enough this weekend,” Abby says.

Marcus comes to fully understand that she thinks of things based on how they affect other people, and never herself.

“Yes, we could ...” his voice trails off as his eyes wander around thinking of something easy going they could do in the city. An EcoJug rolls around at Octavia’s feet, and he says, “Walk your dog, Wilson? We could walk Wilson. He’s a golden retriever, right? He must love going outside.”

Abby smiles to herself, of course, the dog that was eyeing her suspiciously this morning, would now be roped in magically, available to have all the answers. To be fair, Wilson was the laziest retriever she’d ever known, but this was her chance to meet again with Marcus. So Wilson would just have to take one for the team. Team Griffin. But something about leaving Octavia out of the picture once again was pulling at Abby’s strings. It should have felt equally the same as not telling Clarke, but Clarke finding out weighed more heavily on Abby’s shoulders. So with the things that have more weight, we do the natural human thing, delay it as long as possible.

“You can also invite Octavia,” Abby says before she can stop herself, “I mean if you want.” She smacks her forehead with her palm lightly, “I mean if she wants.”

This is when Abby believes phone calls are great because they hide embarrassments. On the other side, they hide the same wide eyed skeptical look that both Marcus and Octavia share. They hide the small flutter in Octavia’s chest, at being found important enough to not overlook. Marcus raises his eyebrow, asking Octavia if she truly is okay with joining. And she gives one brief nod, and subtle lift of the corner of her mouth.

“That sounds wonderful,” Marcus says, and can hear Abby let out a breath she’d been holding in, “you bring your dog and I’ll bring my daughter.”

“Because we’re practically the same,” Octavia murmurs, “rude.”

Abby doesn’t miss the “ow!” from Octavia, as Marcus reaches over to pinch her nose.

Abby laughs, “Okay I’ll meet you by the big metal sculpture at the beginning of the trail, under the Broadleaf bridge, at 6:30?”

“Sounds good,” she hears both of them say simultaneously, and her nerves never had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are not enough adults in The 100, so I welcomed Juliet (sound familiar?). Do with that what you will. I'm not throwing Kabby on an island, so don't fret. Also, chapter 9 and chapter 10 were one *huge* chapter, but I've broken it down into two to preserve my sanity. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for all the comments and kudos! Also, I am laying down a lot of ground work for future plot points in these two chapters. So bear with me. Chapter 11 will have major, major, major Kabby real date feels. I promise.


	10. This Is Octavia

She was grateful to beat traffic, and as if someone was looking out for her, to her greatest pleasure -- there was no car in the driveway. Abby pulled out her phone from her purse and noticed missed messages.

**Clarke**

_ Went to Summer’s to draw.  _

_ Will probably grab dinner there, don’t wait up. _

There were special times during the year when Clarke would head to the coffee shop in TonDC that was once a fire department. Whether or not the reason she spent almost eight hours there simply working on different pieces of work, was because her father used to volunteer his time there often, was beyond Abby. Who could only remember staying at coffee shops that long during university, and med school. But never for mere self-pleasure. 

So, Abby thanked God that it was one of those days. 

Wilson greeted her at the foyer, and she rushed upstairs to look for recreational clothing. She gathered a pair of emerald leggings, matching sports bra, plain cream dri-fit t-shirt, and her worn down Asics tennis shoes. Remembering to put on extra deodorant, but asking herself why she was already sweating? She told herself to just calm down. That last night was as relaxed as today would be. 

Not giving herself more than a one time look over in her full-size mirror, she checked her phone realizing she would barely be getting  _ back _ to Polis in time. So she hustled downstairs and found Wilson laying on the couch, moderately chewing a bone. It took her utterly too long to find his leash, and she gave in to all tactics as she yelled from the kitchen with a treat in her hand, “Wilson,  _ traiter _ !”

Abby smiled wide as she heard his collar quickly come to meet her, and as she bent down to give him the treat, she snapped his leash on and said, “Come on, you’re doing this for me buddy,  _ partons _ ,” and led him outside. Wilson momentarily looked confused, as she practically dragged him to her car, and he not so enthusiastically sat in the passenger seat. 

As she pulled out of the driveway Wilson started whimpering. Abby reached out a hand to pet the top of his head, calming down the nervous dog, “You’re the one who was asking all these questions this morning.”

* * *

She was five minutes late, this much was true. But Wilson definitely was not making it easy on her. She was trying to quicken their pace, and he was just  _ strolling _ , looking around with his tongue hanging out, smiling. And she really wanted to get mad at him, but he just looked so stupidly happy. Abby really hoped he stayed like this the whole time.

They turned the corner from the bottom of the cement staircase they had just walked down, and Abby’s heart stopped. Maybe it was the picture of a father and his teenage daughter joking around, that she never got to see with Jake and Clarke, that made her question if this was  _ right _ . Maybe it was watching them compete to see who could hold on the longest from the monkey bars, right out from under the bridge, that made her hide her body from their line of sight. 

Octavia had long legs, that much she could tell from her angle, legs that were toned not only by youth but by training. She was definitely a few inches taller than Abby, but then again a lot of people were. Abby watched as Octavia kicked her legs out trying to hit Marcus in the stomach so he would let go of the monkey bars. She could hear their conversation in between laughter, as they teased each other, hoping the other would fall. Abby tried not to stare at his shoulders in a black t-shirt, but she couldn’t stop from wandering up to his forearms.

Abby trained her eyes on the young girl not even breaking a sweat, as she showed off by switching from arm to arm. Octavia's hair was also pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing what looked like a baggy tourist t-shirt from Venice Beach in California, and black mesh track shorts. Abby could see the girls green eyes shine from here, and heard her joyous laughter as Marcus grunted angrily before letting go of the metal bars, and landing on his feet. 

She watched as Octavia swung her body and landed a few feet in front of Marcus, and bowed dramatically, saying “thank you, thank you, competition wasn’t that hard, but I’ll take the win!”

Abby tightened her ponytail one more time, before taking a deep breath and walking in their direction. Octavia was the first to see her, and Abby was surprised when she waved at her shyly. Octavia nodded her chin in Abby’s direction, motioning for her dad to turn around. He did so when she was only a few feet away from them, and some stray sweat drops were already running down the sides of his head. 

“Hey you’re here,” he greeted her, wiping his hands on his shorts, and then before Abby could react his hand was on her hip, gently pulling her in, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek so quickly she had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She failed at hiding the flush that rose from her neck to her cheeks, but he continued on as if he hadn’t just pecked her cheek, in front of his daughter no less. 

“This is-”

“Octavia,” his daughter interrupted him while sticking out her hand for Abby to shake, “thanks for dating this weirdo, or whatever you guys are calling it.” 

Marcus doesn’t even scold Octavia, or swat her in some form, he just hides his chuckle under his palm, as Abby shakes her hand, “I’m not sure what we’re calling it, but you’re welcome. I’m Abby by the way, but I feel like you already knew that.” Abby says raising her eyebrow at Marcus, who has taken it upon himself to bend down in front of Wilson. 

“ _ Bonjour _ , Wilson,” he tells him and Abby almost chokes. As if reading her mind, Marcus looks up at her, “Clarke told me he still thinks in French.”

Abby gathers herself before teasing, “Good, at least I don’t have to explain that to you.”

Wilson leans into Marcus’s touch, and then Octavia’s as she bends down as well petting his fur. Wilson’s eyes are glimmering with happiness, and Abby knows he is enjoying the overwhelming love from new faces. And at that moment she thinks,  _ no this wasn’t a bad idea at all. _

So they walk down the trail by the river, at Wilson’s leisure pace nonetheless, and to Marcus’s amazement, him and Abby barely talk. Yes, he’s the one standing next to her, he’s the one holding her fingertips with his own because Octavia insisted she wanted to be the one to hold Wilson on his leash, but Abby has been learning about Octavia far more than he thought Octavia was willing to tell. 

By the time they have made a full circle back to their starting point, it’s dusk, and Abby has promised to show Octavia  _ Practical Magic _ and all three  _ Bridget Jones  _ movies. Marcus questions if a teenage girl should be seeing films that obviously have some minor scenes with much older content. But he quickly learns he won’t win a fight with two women, who were so clearly on the same team now. 

Abby also learns that Octavia will be a sophomore in September, and has been on a travel team for volleyball since she was in middle school, but continues to play for her high school team as well. Octavia has received her quick wit and playfulness from her father, as well. Abby also senses the strong and protective relationship she has not only with Marcus but with Bellamy. Abby sees a humble confidence within herself, but she also resonates that with the massive growing up she had to endure early on in life -- and can blatantly tell that only now has the young girl allowed herself to act even the slightest bit her age. Much like her own daughter. 

Wilson at this point  _ has had enough _ . He plops down on the ground and tells his humans that he is  _ done _ . Octavia is quick to run and get him some water, leaving Abby and Marcus alone for the first time that night. They stand in a comfortable silence, covered in a damp sweat from the warm summer night. Wilson’s labored breathing mixing with the subtle noise of cars and nature. Truly this might be the hardest Wilson’s ever worked out. 

“Thank you,” Marcus says lowly, “for Octavia.”

Abby’s eyes lift to meet his, “You don’t have to thank me for that Marcus. She’s admirable, truly, and she  _ loves you _ . For as much as she picks on you.”

Marcus bites his lip beaming, “I think she’s my best friend,” he laughs deeply, “that’s so sad,” he shakes his head back and forth.

“She’s your world,” Abby tells him truthfully, remembering exactly how close Jake and Clarke were. So much so that Abby got butt hurt often times when Clarke picked hanging out with her father over her. It all seemed so ridiculous now to Abby. Jake loved Clarke more than he loved Abby, and it didn’t bother her because she loved Clarke more than Jake. It didn’t mean they loved each other any less, there was just a new kind of love. A bigger love.  

“God, I’ll be a wreck when she leaves to college,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I could barely cope with Bellamy being away.”

“It gets easier,” Abby tells him truthfully, “you fall into a routine, and a bi-weekly visit is never enough. But you don’t let it show, you don’t put that burden on them, because if they loved us as much as we loved them, they’d never leave us to begin with, and you don’t want to limit them because their happiness is all that matters.”

Marcus stares at Abby, wondering how on Earth he was this God damn lucky to find this one human in the midst of so many others wandering around. Her skin is shining with sweat, and she looks so incredibly petite beside him. His eyes fall to her lips, slightly dehydrated from their walk, and she licks them. Then before he can overthink it, before Wilson can shame him for crossing a line too soon, before his daughter arrived back with the four water bottles she was sent to buy, he lifts his hand to cup the back of her head and pulls her into a long overdue kiss. Abby doesn’t have time to react, and Marcus fears he’s made a mistake, as her soft lips barely move with his own. He pulls back enough to look at her, and her pupils are blown wide, staring back at him, trying to make sense of it all. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Abby feels his breath tickling her mouth.

“Don’t be,” she murmurs back, and this time she lets go of Wilson’s leash, knowing the dog will not move a muscle, before placing her hand on his cheeks and dragging his face back down to her. Their lips meet once more, and what began as a tentative start, has turned into a dance that feels like it’s been rehearsed a million times in order to be performed this perfectly. He tastes like salt, and toothpaste, a combination that Abby did not know she found so alluring until now. She doesn’t even mind the beard. In fact, she invites the foreign feeling of both rough and soft under her lips. 

His hands pull her in closer, and she feels safe as he holds her against his body. He is hard and soft all at the same time, and her small frame makes her seem like she is nowhere but everywhere. Marcus places a hand on her cheek, and they pull away glacially, feeling each other's lips graze for final moments before they are both breathing deeply for air. Marcus smiles down at her, as he kisses the tip of her nose, and then her forehead, unable to hide the soaring in his heart. Abby runs her hands from the back of his head, down his front, feeling the planes of his chest underneath her fingertips. 

Looking up at him from under her eyelashes she knew she was doomed from the beginning. His lips had made her remember how it felt to not think and simply be in the moment. She had forgotten how kissing another person felt like at all. And kissing Marcus was not on her list tonight, but now she feels like dough in his arms. He’s looking down at her with an arrogant smirk, as he runs his thumb over her bottom lip. 

“It was eventual,” he murmured. 

Abby teased, “Was it?”

“Oh  _ fuck  _ yeah,” Marcus chuckled and leans in one more time for a gentle kiss before they have to separate.

They create a respectable amount of room between each other, just in time for Octavia to run back with two water bottles in each hand. What they didn’t know was that Octavia had seen it all, and had waited strategically for them to finish having their moment before running towards them once more. Octavia knew first hand exactly how much darkness Marcus kept within himself, and she knew that he needed someone to help him live in the light. And call her crazy, but she knew Abby would be that person from the moment she saw the photo booth pictures.

They all drank their water hungrily, Wilson especially. 

“I’m so hungry,” Octavia groaned as she discarded her bottle into a recycling bin, “let’s get something to eat! All of us.” 

She looked at both adults, who shared a look before turning back to her, “I mean if you’re not busy Abby, up to you,” Octavia clarified. 

Abby shook her head, “No, food sounds great, there are plenty of restaurants with patio seating for Wilson,” she said looking down at the dog who was practically asleep on the floor, “we might just have to wheelbarrow him out of here though.”

Abby tugged gently at Wilson’s collar and tried to get him to stand. But Wilson looked up at her with his same all knowing face, telling her he  _ was not moving _ . Abby tried to get him to budge again, but he simply wouldn’t. Before either Abby or Octavia could say or do anything more, Marcus had leaned down, and grabbed Wilson by his front legs and then his whole body. Wilson’s eyes grew wide, not knowing what was happening, but Marcus proceeded to carry Wilson like a baby.

“Marcus he weighs like seventy pounds,” Abby cried as Marcus began walking up the way they had come from earlier that evening.

“Just lead me to your car, Abby,” he huffed as he bent his knees and then lifted Wilson up higher on his shoulder. 

“Laziest retriever on Earth,” Abby said unbelievingly at the sight before her.

“Clarke mentioned that too,” Marcus said through short breaths, “I’m surprised he lasted this long, to begin with.”

Wilson growled lowly, and they all laughed when Marcus said, “I can put you down at anytime Wilson,” and his growl stopped short. Octavia and Abby giggled wildly, as Marcus struggled to carry the dog to Abby’s car.  
  


* * *

They found themselves at a  _ Polis Java _ on the river, settling under an array of Christmas lights on the wooden deck. Wilson laid at Abby’s feet, a bowl of water available near him. There was the gentle hum of conversations being taken place around them and mellow coffee house music.

“So what’s the coolest surgery you’ve done?” Octavia asks bluntly as she sticks a carrot in her mouth. 

Abby is caught off guard by the question but comes up with an answer quickly, “Well I’m not going to say by definition is was  _ the coolest _ . But the one that has stuck with me to this day is a heart transplant for a little boy who only had a week left to live. There was an accident, person was an organ donor, they matched, and I was called at 2 a.m..”

Octavia comments with a mouth full, “your life must never be boring.”

Just as Marcus kicks Octavia under the table, Abby replies, “It’s a strange combination of loving the rush and simultaneously hoping days  _ are _ boring, because at the end of the day it’s still people’s lives in your hand. And I don’t really like playing God.”

Both Octavia and Marcus sit still at such an eloquent answer and watch as Abby takes another bite from her wrap as if she answers these questions on the daily. They all eat comfortably, with little stories here and there, until the brownie sundae they decided to share is placed in front of them for dessert. 

Marcus fights Abby for the few strawberries placed meticulously throughout the plate until one of them scoops so aggressively it sends the small slice of fruit flying off the table. Abby bows her head embarrassed as they raise attention, and Marcus just laughs continuing to eat the sweet chocolate.

“Was your husband a doctor too?” Octavia’s voice chimes in so low it’s barely audible over the music. 

It’s very noticeable, as Abby begins to lazily move whip-cream around the large plate, that the tone has shifted. Her eyes don’t lift to meet anyone’s face, and Octavia realizes she may have made the biggest mistake of the night. Marcus tries to think of something to say, to divert the conversation topic, but he’s just as caught off guard as Abby. And if he’s honest, he’s equally as curious as Octavia. 

Abby lays her spoon down, and leans back in the metal chair, holding her hands on her lap, “No,” she shakes her head, looking down at Wilson who is fast asleep, “he was an engineer.” 

Octavia tries to make light of the subject, “Brainy household you had going on then.”

Abby’s lips lift into a smirk, “I was the smart ass, well still am ... Jake could connect with anyone, anywhere, he had a knack of always being relatable.”

“And you don’t?” Octavia questions raising her eyebrow, “I find that hard to believe.”

Abby shrugs, “I learned to be, once he was gone.”

Marcus feels a question bubble up to his lips, and he swallows it. She didn’t ask him the hard questions, he just  _ let them out _ . So he decided that Abby deserved the same respect, the same patience, she had shown him. Octavia had let Abby’s words hang in the air, until the woman staring off into the distance, gently running her fingers over her clavicle in rotations, decided to speak again. 

“For whatever vain reason,” her voice comes out hoarse, “I had … I  _ have _ ,” she clarifies, “confidence in my ability, my knowledge,  _ my work _ . You’re trained to see things with attention to detail, and have the ability to reference a journal and say  _ I was right _ .” 

Abby watches as the wind creates ripples on the surface of the water, and the stray paddle boarders and canoe rowers hurry to make it back before closing. “But what really,” her voice quivers and Marcus eyes her shaking upper lip, and memorizes her barely composed face with such reverence, “what really  _ fucking sucks _ ,” Abby breathes out, “is when you find out that you had  _ no way _ of knowing that things like this could happen. That your husband would go to work, and you'd argue over whose turn it was to pick up Clarke from school, and then you’d get a call from the hospital across town telling you that your husband has passed from a brain aneurysm.”

Their table is quiet, and Marcus can’t help but feel knots build within his own stomach. His hand is placed over his mouth, listening. “You don't plan for  _ those _ things, you don't get a warning, you don't get the time to  _ figure it out  _ to  _ solve it _ \-- and Abby being  _ Dr. Abigail Griffin,”  _ she emphasized her title, “couldn’t handle that.”

“It-” Abby laughs without a hint of humor in her voice, “It took me a long time to learn, that even if by some miracle, I were to go back in time, and just watch him day in and day out, that I would  _ never _ have caught a flaw. Because it was a contingent, unwarranted, shitty incident.” 

Abby quickly wipes at a stray tear that fell down her cheek, as she wraps her arms around herself, and murmurs, “And that’s why it really  _ fucking sucked _ .” She doesn't dare look at Marcus or Octavia as she tells herself to stop crying. It had been a long time since anyone asked about Jake, and with openness about the good, your body feels like you can share the bad twice as much. 

“God,” Abby wipes her eyes again, chiding herself for breaking down so easily, “I am sorry that got dark, we were having such a good-”

But before she can finish Octavia has hastily moved her chair closer to Abby’s, and gathered the older woman in her arms. The feeling of someone holding her tight, makes Abby's face crumble into the girl's shoulder. She feels Marcus lay a hand on her knee and rub tiny circles with his thumb. She lets one of her hands slip from Octavia’s arm and reaches for his fingers. They’re warm, and as his hand enveloped hers, she allows herself the comfort of his family. 

Octavia lets Abby sit and be held until she can feel her breath return to normal. It's only when Abby gently pulls away, that she remembers Octavia lost someone she loved very much too. And she felt crazy, crazy for creating a relationship this powerful, with a man she'd only met a few weeks ago, and a young girl she'd only met today. Everything was moving fast, and yet, she was pleading for it not to slow down. 

It was then that Abby realized she was falling quickly, quicker than she'd thought she’d ever fall again. But how kismet that the first man she’d allowed herself to see, after nearly seven years without Jake, was him. She didn't know how she got so lucky. And she added Marcus and Octavia to the list of people she never wanted to hurt. 

In that same moment, Marcus observed as Octavia rubbed Abby’s shoulder once more, and he knew that this thing between them  _ had to _ work out. Because Octavia had already grown a bond with her, one that he could never replace. 

* * *

 

They ended their night beside Abby’s car, Wilson in the passenger seat, with the aircon on. Saying goodbyes, before Octavia declared she had to go to the restroom, and dashed off. Abby leaned back against the metal frame of her charcoal Acura and watched as Marcus moved closer to her the moment Octavia’s back was turned on them. She closed her eyes and felt his warmth before his hands laid at her neck and rose to cup the back of her head. If he continued to do that, there would be no restraint left in her.

“Abby?” Marcus said. 

“Hmmm,” she answered with a lazy smile, as her eyes opened slowly.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he grinned, feeling her cheek with his thumb.

“You better hurry up then,” she taunted him.

Then his lips were on hers, and his body pushed forward, pinning between the car and himself. His hands moved lower to pull her waist close to his, and Abby equally pushed her hips against his palms, as she held her hands behind his neck and pulled him down to her. Marcus felt them get lost in each other, as her fingers played with the ends of his hair, and her small frame complemented his larger build. He felt her tongue tease at his bottom lip, and it took everything with him to not groan. He didn’t care if they were in a public parking lot, making out like teenagers, his own teenager soon on her way back. All he cared about was  _ her _ , and the way that she was eager to get closer to him -- accidentally stepping on his toes, and pulling away briefly before turning her head and yanking him down again. 

Then when she sighed and let her arms lazily fall down his chest, and rest on his hip bones, gently running patterns with her fingers, he was reminded of how duplex Abby was. To be supple and strong, to share her past so vulnerably and play around like a child, and to be a woman he wanted to hold and simply hold him, but to also be a woman he wanted to make  _ feel _ all he could give. More than he’d given anyone. 

When they parted, in need of air, Abby couldn’t hide her blush. Her skin was on fire, and she told herself she had to stop. At least for now. 

He kissed her temple one more time before Abby said, “I’m going to have to tell Clarke tonight.”

Marcus bit his lip, before replying softly, “This is good, Abby.”

“I know,” she agrees, “and I should be scared but I’m not.”

Marcus raises his eyebrow confused, “You shouldn’t be afraid to be open with Clarke?”

“No,” Abby playfully pushes him, “I should be scared of this,” she points back and forth between the both of them, “but I’m not.”

“I’m not afraid either,” he tells her lightly.

But he was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the intrigue! Remember, chapter 11 will have major, major, major Kabby real date feels. I promise.


	11. The First Real Date

The tile felt cold as Abby stepped out of the shower, glad to rinse the dried sweat and minimal dirt from her body. When she'd arrived home, Clarke’s car was still gone so she took the opportunity to gather her thoughts, and create a plan of action. You'd think she was briefing the president by the level of detail she gathered in her head to explain to Clarke just how Marcus and her came about. All there was to do was be honest. But being honest was actually very hard in most situations. It left the opportunity for attack on the most vulnerable of places. But it also meant there was no lies, no messy anecdotes to remember, no extra work.

The clock neared 10:30 at night, and just as Abby was about to call Clarke out of concern, she waltzed in through the front door. Startling Abby who had finished putting the dishes away from the dishwasher.

Clarke saw the kitchen light on and made her way to dump her purse and tote on the bar stools of the island.

“I was just about to call you,” Abby said opening the fridge, still unable to face Clarke fully.

“Yeah, sorry! I just got on a roll and really didn't want to stop myself,” Clarke said excitedly as if she could still stay up for another seven hours. Abby grabbed a water bottle, and composed herself, remembering everything she had meticulously gone over in the shower. But then she heard rustling from behind her, and all flew out of her mind when Clarke began to spread out pieces of sketch paper all over the marble island.

“Come look, I want your opinion,” Clarke said as she dug around for more little pieces of paper, some being on Post Its, some on legal pad paper, some doodles even on napkins, “I ran out off space in my sketchbook but lucky some people were willing to lend me some of their material.” 

Abby set her bottle on the bar behind her and leaned over Clarke’s designs. She saw sketches of lense frames and books and shelves and maps.

“So Kane thought I should try my hand at concepting something for the new company we partnered with,” Clarke began explaining as she laid down one last piece of ripped napkin, “and I know it looks crazy but it’s just because I have so many little scraps separated.”

Abby watched as Clarke grabbed, and marveled at her ideas for a local shop that wanted to sell hand crafted glasses but also serve as a small book store. She watched as Clarke’s eyes widened when she got excited about one particular sketch or idea. And they weren't _bad_ concepts either. Abby grew just as immersed with Clarke, helping decide which sketches to leave aside and which to continue developing. The thought of Marcus leaving her mind until Clarke carefully packed everything back in her bag to take upstairs.

“Clarke honey can I talk to you about something?” Abby forced her voice to ask just as Clarke was walking out of the kitchen.

Clarke slowly turned to her mom, who hadn't moved an inch from her spot standing on one side of the island.

“Sure,” Clarke said elongating the vowels. 

“It’s ummm,” Abby began as she picked at the different metallics of the marble counter, “it’s about Marcus actually,” Abby stopped fidgeting and lifted her eyes to meet Clarke's blank expression. 

“Marcus?” Clarke said, his first name feeling strange on her tongue, “my boss Marcus Kane? _That Marcus_?” Clarke raised her eyebrow at her mom curiously. 

Abby nodded, “Yes.”

“Didn't know you called him that,” Clarke commented under her breath, “But okay … what about Kane?” 

Then there it was, all she had practiced in the shower, coming out a bit more wildly and bit more like word vomit with barely any breaths in between words. But the story of Abby and Marcus, from the museum, until Wilsons walk, was now fully laid out for Clarke to digest. 

“And I'm not saying that he’s my boyfriend or anything very serious, but we enjoy spending time together and I think I want to continue seeing him, but I couldn't do that if you didn't know.”

Clarke stood motionless at the other side of the marble island, her mouth closed, her face blank, not a clue given on what was going on in her mind. Abby’s eyes searched over every possible movement, but there was none. Just as Clarke opened her mouth the slightest, she shut it. Then finally she spoke clearly, although it was low.

“I don’t want to say anything that I’ll have to apologize for later on. So, I’m going to go to my room,” she said and quietly made her way up the stairs, her door closing with a soft click. Abby didn’t know whether to immediately follow her or just let it play out. She went with the second, but as her eyes fell on the tote bag left on the bar stool, filled with work sketches. She debated whether she was  _right_.

What Abby didn’t expect was for Clarke to stay huddled in her room _all_ Sunday. Only twice did she hear her room open, to go to the kitchen, and then back up she went, closing the door behind her. Clarke hadn’t spoken a word to her, so she hadn’t spoken a word to Marcus. Even if his sweet text messages craved to be replied to.

Monday came around and Clarke was gone before Abby woke up. Tote and all.

* * *

Marcus walks in to find the desk where Clarke usually sits, empty. It’s not unusual that he is greeted with an empty office, but more times than not, Clarke was always there before him. To greet him with coffee he did not ask for but gladly accepted. Or to greet him with client news, both enjoyable and not.  

Especially after the disappearance of Abby for the past day, he was slightly worried. Maybe they had underestimated how Clarke would react.  

Be that as it may, Marcus was not expecting Clarke to be roaming around his office, looking at the few photos, and many awards he was given, spread throughout his bookshelves.  

“Good morning, Clarke,” he says gaining her attention, “in search of something?” 

She doesn't turn to face him, leaving him with her profile, as she observes the photo of him, Octavia, and Bellamy at drop-off day for the military academy. Octavia still had braces, and Bellamy was a bit more on the scrawny side. They both looked small, and so unlike themselves now.  

“Nothing in particular,” she finally says, slowly backing away from the photos.  

Marcus sighs as he goes to place his briefcase down by his desk, suddenly not liking the suit he was wearing for an investor meeting, or the tie felt like a noose around his neck. He had stood up to powerful people, and yet here he was, faltering at the voice of the daughter of the woman he was dreaming about. When you put it that way, it was lucky he wasn't dead on the ground. 

As he sits down, connecting his laptop to the two monitors on his desk, he leans back in his seat.  

“I’m just going to take a premature guess and say you want to discuss your mother and me,” Marcus states decisively. 

“How many emails to the company inbox, do you do think I get weekly?” Clarke asks curtly, ignoring his statement in full.  

Marcus raises an eyebrow, “I want to say upwards of 300.”

“To this date, the weekly average is 477.” 

“As they should be,” he comments tersely. 

“And how many of those emails do you think ask about getting _your_ personal number and information?” 

“Clarke, if you want to say something-” 

“Oh, I'm getting there,” Clarke smiles maliciously, “about one-third of emails come from all over. They all mostly ask to set up a quick meeting, introduction, or interview with you. From that one-third, want to know how many aren't professional? At least five a week since I've been here.” Clarke has begun pacing in front of him, her arms crossed in front of her, but her hands moving from her chin to point at nothingness to emphasize points.   

“But you know I'm under contract,” she states her hand finding a spot flat on her chest, “and I don't ask awkward questions that you don't have to answer. Also, I’m a mature individual so I know how other _adults_ live their lives.” Marcus stares at Clarke, his jaw clenching, knowing exactly where she's getting at. She takes a second to pause before she states in a sharp tone, that almost, _almost_ , makes him flinch. “But the rules have changed, now that you’ve taken an interest in _my mom._ ” 

Clarke’s arms fall to her hips, as she takes a powerful stance in front of his desk. “Michelle had a wonderful time at the conference in Rio and will be in town the first week of August in case you want to catch up. She recommended a very nice hotel, of which she said modeled after the one you guys had such an eventful time at.” 

Marcus blinks slowly, a knot tightening in his throat. It’s becoming hard for him to maintain eye contact with Clarke’s fiery blue orbs, but he treks on.  

“Laura wants to give you your shirt back because she's moving apartments. Oh, but she didn’t forget to mention that you could stop by her _new_ loft to pick it up.” 

“Clarke,” he begins but the young woman continues without an ounce of wariness. 

“You know some of these emails don't even show a slight amount of shame, or I don't know discretion.” Clarke waves her arms aimlessly above her head as she does an exasperated turn, and begins walking to face the city from his large panel of windows. “Sandra, really, really, really, wants to thank you for one of _the best nights_ she’s ever had in Polis. She was afraid she’d given you the wrong information, and wanted to reach out, _just in case_.” Clarke scrunches her face, emphasizing the last words with a sarcastic expression.  

“Clarke, I understand what this looks like-” 

“My mom’s off limits,” Clarke answers sharply, her breath a bit uneven, and her temper rising as she turns to face him. 

Marcus watches as she now slowly approached him once more, but chooses to sit on one of the small cushioned seats he holds in front of his desk. Her head falls into her hands, as her elbows rest on her knees. Marcus thinks it’s his time to talk, but Clarke begins in a softer tone, raising her head to look at him blankly.  

“She's not a game you can play, and continue to try to win, until she ends up on her back in a hotel room like all those other women. And trust me, I know _you_ , and I know that you can be a kind, funny, and genuine human being in this life,” she waves around the office, “and in your family life, because why else wouldn't these women never mention Arkadia or _your children_?” 

Clarke leans back against her seat, and holds her hands in her lap, “And I know you to be one of the _best_ bosses I've ever had, and I truly like working for you. But I get the emails. I hear the talk, Kane. _I’m the one_ who deals with the awkward follow-ups from your many admirers, professional and not. So my answer is _no_. You don't deserve my mom because she's the most passionate and stubborn and loving person I've ever known. And yes, she's been alone romantically a while, but I won't let you take advantage of that.” 

Her final words fall as an orchestra of silence begins, there are no phone’s ringing, no outside conversation buzzing, the city is still, and the aircon has yet to start that morning. Clarke can’t even hear herself breathing, and contradictory to her, Marcus feels _everything_. He feels the sharp knife plunge into his lungs. He feels the stinging needles running through every nerve in his body, especially his fingertips. He feels a heavy weight on his shoulders, pressing down with the realities of his former life. (And was it really former if he’d only stopped living this way the day after he’d met Abby in the museum? Were a few weeks enough to convince a man to leave his stag pleasantries behind?)  

“Has it ever occurred to you that I know I don’t deserve your mother?” Marcus states lowly, his eyes downcast, looking at the pattern of the carpet beneath him, and realizing it’s the first time he ever noticed it at all. “I’m reminded almost every minute I spend with her, and every second I spend without her, how stupid lucky I got to even be in her orbit. To even live at the same time as someone as brave and intelligent and so much more than just beautiful. Clarke,” he pauses to lift himself out of his seat, and walks around to stand in front of her, leaning back the slightest against his desk, “I am well aware that I don’t deserve your mother. But don’t you think she deserves someone to make her laugh? To make her feel light as air? Don’t you think she deserves to be someone's first thought in the morning and last thought at night?” 

Clarke sits still, not quite expressionless, as her face softens at Marcus’s words.  

“Your mother loved your father, and I am not looking to expunge or belittle those memories. I’m not looking to replace an irreplaceable man.” Clarke’s eyes flash up to meet his at the mention of her dad. “I am looking to make your mother happy, and vibrant, and wanted, _now_. And if she wants it to, I beg of you, don’t judge my intentions by my past. Because I have no excuse or rationale for my bachelor behavior. All I can say is that since I’ve met your mother, I’ve seen or thought of no one else.” 

“We don’t need your money, you know?” Clarke says quietly, “Being a millionaire won’t help your chances with my mom. She doesn’t care about that shit.” 

Marcus can’t help but chuckle under his breath, “Trust me I know that, she paid for our first non-date date. And left the tip at the cafe because I beat her to the total bill.” 

He almost misses when Clarke’s mouth lifts a few centimeters on its ends, into a soft smile. Then she raises her eyebrow, “Do you donate to charity?”  

Marcus is a bit surprised by the question, but answers without much of a pause, “Yes. In fact, I’ve been a regular donor to your mother’s hospital since I moved here. We actually have an event next week.” 

“Do you support Planned Parenthood?” Clarke fires another question at him. 

“Of course,” he nods. 

“Have you ever participated in one of Polis’s charity 5ks?” 

“Autism, LGBTQ, Cancer, Education,” he lists some off the top of his head, knowing he won’t be able to name them all, as he counts them with his fingers.

“Final question,” Clarke states, “Did you give me the big concept project because you want to sleep with my mom?”  

“Oh Jesus,” Marcus runs a hand over his face, “First of all, I want more than _that_.” He states refusing to actually repeat her words in full, “And second, _no_. I gave that to you because I trust you, I wanted to see what you would come up with, and it’s vital you get this experience.” 

Clarke stands up then, to be face to face with him, “Okay then, nothing changes. I do well here, I get my five calls. We keep my mom out of work talk unless it’s something really embarrassing that I could use against her, and no one else in the office is to know, at least until my internship is over.”  

Marcus feels strange because it seems like a business deal has been met, simultaneously as a blessing has been given.  

“Okay,” Marcus nods.  

Clarke nods, as she begins retreating to her desk. Halfway to the door she turns, “But just so you know, for your sake, I hope you’re being honest. My mom does deserve all that you said.” 

“Understood,” Marcus smiles, and to his greatest pleasure, Clarke returns with an equally authentic smile before she leaves to officially start her morning.

* * *

Abby’s on her way to check on patients when her phone vibrates radically. It’s nearly embarrassing how quickly she pulls it out of her pocket. Her heart rate increasing as she sees the messages.  

 

**Marcus**

_I think it’s safe to talk to me now._  

 

**Clarke**

_Want to grab lunch?_

_I’m ready to talk._

_Don’t worry, it’s all good, and you can pick up the tab -- heard you like doing that often._

_Lol but when do I ever pay?_  

 

Abby’s eyes wildly skim through the messages, as she tries to correctly decipher both of their conversations. She also wants to kill Marcus for telling Clarke she paid for their first non-date date.   

 

She replies first to Clarke:

_Let’s meet at the food truck park on 4th at 12?_

 

Then she replies to Marcus:

_I’m glad. I missed you._

 

Clarke agrees and then Abby sees the next message, not from her daughter. 

 

**Marcus**

_I missed you too._

_Don’t make plans for tomorrow night._

_Live music is calling our name._  

 

All of Abby’s worries lift off her shoulders, as she smiles wide, tucks her phone away, and practically skips to meet Reese.

* * *

Marcus had refused to tell her _where_ or _who_ they were going to see that night. All he said was that the venue was indoors and downtown. Abby quickly found out that there are ten indoor _and_ downtown venues. She boiled it down to five that were having performers and then dismissed one DJ -- really hoping Marcus was not taking her to a rave. She would outright leave him alone at the venue if they showed up to a club filled with black lights and alcoholic shots that glowed in the dark.  

Nonetheless, she dressed for the occasion wearing straight boot cut dark washed jeans, a black scoop-necked fitted shirt, with three-fourth sleeves, and black wedges. She took the time to wand some stray pieces of hair that decided to not wave naturally like the rest of her hair. Abby embarrassingly knocked on Clarke’s door, to ask if she could do light eye makeup for her. Clarke agreed, a little too excited to use her mother's expensive makeup brushes that she herself _never used_. Clarke blended neutral colors, and bit of gold shimmer on her moms' eyelids, before smudging her mother's top eyeliner, and watched her mom intently as she applied mascara. Reminding her not to just use it on the tips of her eyelashes.

Just as Clarke finished clipping her mom’s dainty silver wrap bracelet on her left wrist, and Abby sprayed her _Diptyque_ perfume on herself, the doorbell rang. Both women paused, sharing a look, and then Clarke saw a flash of fear in her mother's eyes, as Abby’s shoulders tensed.

“Mom breathe,” Clarke told her, holding her shoulders underneath her fingertips, trying to massage out the tension.

“What am I doing?” Abby whispered her bottom lip coming between her teeth.  

“You’re going to a concert in Polis, with a man you like,” Clarke explained in a calm tone, “you’re going to enjoy the music, because Kane has _good_ taste, and you’re going to let him pay for your many alcoholic beverages, and you’re not going to think too much, you’re just going to _live_ it.” 

Abby nods, “You know this is our first real _date date_.”

Clarke smiles softly at her mom, “What’d you tell me on my first date?”

“Don’t put out?” Abby smirks.

“Oh God,” Clarke laughs her cheeks flushing, “well yes _that_. And aside from traditional safety measures, you also said -- _Have fun and be yourself_. And if you find yourself not having fun, or not being yourself, then -” 

“Then thank goodness it was just a date,” Abby finishes Clarke’s sentence.  

“Now go,” Clarke states, letting her hands fall from Abby’s shoulders, “because I am not answering the front door of my home to my boss.” 

Abby kisses Clarke’s forehead then, and then grabs her purse from the hook on the back of her bathroom door, and before she heads out of the room she turns to her daughter, “I want to clarify that when you’re an adult -- you can have sex whenever and with whoever you want as long as you’re safe, and are not pressured.” 

“Mom!” Clarke shrieks, her hands covering her face, “Please go.”  

So Abby does, laughing at her daughter's second-hand embarrassment the whole way down the stairs. She takes one final breath before opening the door, and suddenly can’t remember why she was even freaking out to begin with. His face instantly calms her, even if he’s shifting from foot to foot nervously, with his hands behind his back.

Their eyes meet and Abby says gently, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he answers, “you look beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” she states stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. The moment it clicks shut his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him. Abby has zero time to prepare for this, so she clumsily falls forward into his embrace, but he’s strong enough to hold them both up. She lifts her face from his chest, to look at him, “Clarke’s still inside, please save all kissing for the car.” 

He grunts, “But front porches sole purpose in life are to serve as a stage for kisses.” 

“You make a compelling argument Mr. Kane,” Abby murmurs, inhaling his cologne like a drug she’s missed, “I suggest you try again at the end of the night when my daughter is asleep.” 

“Fine but the moment we sit in that car, I am kissing the shit out of you,” he tells her a playful glint in his eye.  

True to his word, as soon as his door is shut closed, and the car is turned on, he leans over the middle compartment, but her lips crash to meet his halfway, wanting to beat him at his own proposal. Their pressure is soft, and their hands are lost in the others hair, and only when his car _talks_ and startles them both, do they part.  

“No Bluetooth device found,” a woman’s almost robotic voice announces.  

Abby sits back laughing, buckling herself into the seat, as Marcus switches his media to the radio and runs a hand through his hair, before pulling out of her driveway. The ride feels short, as she continues to pry at who they’re going to see, and he starts off refusing to give any information and then changes tactics half way and begins giving misleading information. There’s something about the crisp smell of the leather seats, fresh air con, and illumination of streets lights against their skin that make Abby feel happy. That makes her feel like she could live in this moment forever. With NPR as the background, they don’t pay attention to -- but she’s sure _he does_ on his daily commutes. Watching as his hand stays on the gear shift, and then reaches out to hers to squeeze briefly before returning. She adores the small grin that appears on his face, when she places her hand lightly atop of his, as he drives them through the city.  

When they pull up to the corner of the venue and the valet opens the door for her to step out, she sees a coiled up silver chain with a small thin cross, thrown underneath the air controls, where people usually keep coins. Abby doesn't have enough time before her own body slips out of the car and the valet drives off. It’s only then that she noticed she was sitting in a goddamn Tesla.

Marcus finds her hand, and she forgets about the question on her lips only for a moment and then saves it for another time. She’s led to a small venue with old theater, showcasing “Bear’s Den & Ben Howard” on their white promotion board with blinking lights around the border. There’s a long line to get in, but Marcus leads her to the front, where he greets a bald man covered in tattoos, that opens the thick red curtains for them to enter the club. It, in fact, is nowhere near a rave, and Abby is grateful. 

There are signed records, and posters, and photos, and a shrine to Elvis Presley and Duke Ellington. The walls are aligned with dark red and brown brick, and there are dull red booths on one side and a wooden bar on the other. There’s a small stage towards the back of the room, under a sign that says _Evergreene’s_. Only a few people, mostly workers, are in the nightclub with them, and they all greet Marcus by his first name. One of them calls him Marc, and Abby has to hide her giggle as irritation to the nickname clearly shows on his face.  

They find a spot at the corner of the bar, near the stage, so they can make a move once they allow all guests in. He orders a neat whiskey and she surprises him by telling the bartender she’ll have the same.  

“Am I hearing jazz tonight?” she asks him as their drinks are placed in front of them.

Marcus smiles and shakes his head, “No, but I promise you won’t be disappointed. These guys are awesome live.” 

“You’ve seen them before?” 

“Only once,” he shrugs, “in England.” 

Abby’s expression says _of course you’ve seen these guys in another country as if it’s nothing, of course you have_. Under the dim lights of the bar, she finally notices he’s wearing a navy blue polo, and black jeans. Of the three buttons, he has two undone, and she’s not complaining one bit. Before she can help herself she leans in close to him and tastes the mix of their lips and the whiskey that _smells_ like fire smoke and blends so nicely with their tongues. Abby realizes suddenly that she loves kissing him, but she _really_ loves kissing him while he still has the taste of alcohol in his mouth. Who has she become? She thinks. The times she’s desired him the most are when he smells of cigarette smoke and tastes like whiskey. Any other man and she’d turn the other way. But this one curl has fallen on his face, and her hand has been captured within his, and he brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle, and she realizes she _doesn’t fucking care_. Because he’s still looking at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.  

It’s when the doors open to the public at 9:00 that he orders them another round, and leads them to booths away from the bar. She feels his hand at the small of her back, and although she’s painfully aware of how hot his palm feels, she never wants him to stop doing that. They sit, and his arm falls around her shoulder, and she forgets the crowd.  

 _They forget the crowd_.  

Marcus notices when her calves drape over his shins, and their bodies are angled towards each other in such an intimate way that he’s glad the party is large. He’s sure she’s a bit tipsy because his right hand hasn’t left her waist, where he’s been gently nipping at the skin between the end of her shirt and the beginning of her jeans. Plus, with no prior warning, she’s kissed a spot on his neck three times already. But he learned quickly that Abby doesn’t turn into a giggling mess when she’s more than tipsy with a man she desires. Instead, her eyes turn dark, and they don’t try to hide where they're looking, even if they stare at his lips until he kisses her again and again and again. What ruins him, is that her witty conversation never takes a downturn, she’s still the sarcastic intelligent woman three whiskeys in.  

At 9:30, the first performer appears, and Marcus leads Abby to the stage. Thanking two workers for saving them a spot at the front. He stands behind her, slightly to her left, and leans down to whisper in her ear, “I only use my connections when trying to impress you okay?”  

She turns to him then with a smirk, “I’m not complaining.” 

Then the guitarist begins strumming his instrument in such a delicate tone that the whole audience shuts up. The lead singer has started the song and Abby is already hooked.  

 _We stood_  
_Steady as the stars in the woods_  
_So happy-hearted_  
_And the warmth rang true inside these bones_  
_As the old pine fell we sang_  
 _Just to bless the morning_  

The audience sings around her, and she falls back against Marcus' chest, hearing his low voice sing along and feeling it rumble against her spine and whisper softly against her temple.

 _We grow, grow, steady as the morning_  
_We grow, grow, older still_  
_We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn_  
_We grow, grow, older still_  
_We grow, grow, steady as the flowers_  
 _We grow, grow, older still_

The crowd cheers and Abby wishes time would stop turning. But as the next song begins, she decides to just live in the now.

 _All I am is the bones you made for me so garishly clean_  
_White as the horses, they carry me away_  
_And all my demons, you said, come and go with a haze_  
_I might as well took a_  
 _I'll grow old in my way just like you do_  

Clarke was right, Abby thinks as the voice of the male singer echoes through her body, Marcus has good taste. She doesn't mind his hands on her hips, or the way he's playing mindlessly with her belt loops as he sings to _every_ song. Suddenly the beat picks up and people in the crowd start dancing and twirling the other, and before Abby can help it she’s being spun around by Marcus while the performer continues.

 _Oh there ain't no diamonds in the boredom_  
_Oh there ain't no darkness that I fear_  
_Oh there ain't no way to say I love you more_  
_So be clear, just to be clear_  
 _So be clear, be clear_  

The song ends and everyone claps, and calms down, rightfully so as the next tune is much softer. She feels Marcus tense behind her, and she looks around trying to find the cause until the lyrics begin and couples around them gather each other in their arms, and new lovers hold hands, and people place their hands over their hearts. 

 _Darling you're with me, always around me_  
_Only love, only love_  
_Darling I feel you, under my body_  
_Only love, only love_  
_Give me shelter, or show me heart_  
_Come on love, come on love_  
 _Watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart_

Abby doesn’t think when she reaches behind her and brings his arms to wrap around her torso, as she holds them in place, and sways their bodies side to side slowly. Marcus leant forward, as she leans back, placing his chin on her shoulder. And Abby melts at the vibration of his voice against her ear. 

 _Darling I feel you under my body_  
_Darling you're with me forever and always_  
_Give me shelter or show me heart_  
 _And watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart_

Marcus molds against her frame, and inhales the scent of her perfume as her neck lay bare in front of him. Nothing in his life had ever come close to this moment, and as he watched her enjoy the music, swaying with him, her hair splayed out against his shoulder. Nothing would ever beat this woman in his arms.  

As the first performer, Ben Howard, ended his encore with a lively song. Abby couldn’t believe they still had a whole other band. There’s a brief intermission, and Marcus asks if she wants water or another drink, and the responsible woman in her says water but she convinces herself that drinking cider out of a can, is one up from water and not as deadly as another glass of whiskey. So Marcus returns with pineapple cider for her and him, and jokes about shotgunning beers in college, and Abby looks at him like he’s crazy.  

“You’re telling me you _never_ shotgunned a beer?” 

“Marcus I was _civilized_ , not part of some douchey business frat,” she tells him playfully, as they drink their cider. Not shake the cans, puncture a hole on the side, and gulp the furious beverage spewing out until there’s no cider left.  

“Well I never did a keg stand or jello shots,” Marcus says after a sip, “so _not that_ douchey.” 

“Jello shots are not the equivalence of a keg stand,” Abby rolls her eyes.  

Marcus raises his eyebrow curiously at her, “I guess I’ll have to get you some jello shots one night then.” 

Abby laughs and pulls him in by the end of his shirt until she feels his soft lips and rough beard against her face. Their mouths are cold from the cider, and they feel refreshing against one another. She mentally thanks herself for not getting water, although she knows she’ll hate herself in the morning. But the morning is so so so many hours away.  

Then to Marcus’s delight, the crowd hushes, and a familiar tune begins playing. He turns Abby around, keeping her slightly clumsy body steady in his hands, holding her low on the hips.  

 _Can’t you hear it in the silence?_ _Can’t you hear me calling out your name?_ _I’ve got something burning_ _Coursing through these cold veins_

Abby realizes quickly how well the two artists complement each other, and how if you love one, you’re definitely bound to like _something_ about the other. She doesn’t hear Marcus this time around, and wonders if maybe he doesn’t know this band as well as he knew the first performer. She feels his beard against her ear and listens to the lyrics that were not written for them, _obviously_. But then she hears his low voice sing a verse almost to himself, and Abby can’t help but feel like these lyrics mean something _to him_. As she feels his fingers curl into fists against her sides, and she knows its unknowing to him, how he treats himself.  

 _I was waiting for a call_  
_A call never came_  
_So I made my own way_  
_And I can't find my way back home again_  
_Stranded in the darkness_  
_Begging please don’t pin all of your dreams on me_  
_Baby, you can count on me_  
_You can count on me_  
_To fuck up everything_  
_I’ve been running forever love_

 _Forever love_  
_I’ve been running away_  
_I forget what I’m running from_

 _But it still scares me today_  
 

Abby finishes her beverage and so does he, and they place the cans on the stage like apparently all the other people standing at the front do with their own drinks. But the band doesn’t seem to mind, as they reach down and take sips from their own water bottles. As the musicians start their third song, it becomes clear, that Marcus _loves_ this band.  

 _Everyday I would wait by the gates for you,_  
_With time how your heart withdrew._  
_You said I never understand the pain or share the shame,_  
_but you know that I want to._

Abby wants to see him. Wants to see how entranced he is and his lips moving along with the rest of the audience. So, she makes her way to his side and holds his hand in hers, as she leans her head on his arm, and looks up at him. He’s completely unaware of how she’s memorizing him in this moment. 

 _But you give me hope and now you take it away,_  
_You took my love and now you celebrate._  
_When the morning comes, no I don't believe_

_In my God, oh my God how could you take her from me?_

He knows every word, to every song, that they play. And Abby takes turns from watching him and watching the band. They’re excellent, and she knows she’ll end up having to ask Clarke to put them on her phone somehow. And at this second, she’s incredibly grateful that he decided to share this with her. Marcus leans down every so often to kiss her temple, and pull her into his arms when the beat picks up for some of the songs, and continue to sway her side to side.

He turns her back to face the stage, and everyone applauses and the band makes a witty comment. Abby takes her place in front of him once more, as the crowd cheers when a familiar guitar rift begins, and she doesn’t have time to react before Marcus' arms come around her above her shoulders, as he pulls her back against him.  

“This one’s my favorite,” he murmurs into her ear.  

 _Agape_  
_Please don't dissipate_  
_I know that I have got it all wrong_  
_I'm reaching out_  
_To touch your voice_  
_But baby, I'm clutching at straws_  
_Even though_  
_Your words hurt the most_  
_I still wanna hear them, every day_  
_You say let it go_  
_But I can't let it go_  
_I won't leave, every word that you say_

It’s the perfect song to end their night.

* * *

 

Marcus doesn’t know how they ended up in the driveway of her home, at a quarter to one in the morning. He doesn’t know how she ended up in his lap, straddling his hips, with a Bear’s Den album playing softly in the background. It was ridiculous to feel like teenagers at their age, but there was no other way to express the very emotions running through the both of them.  

His hands were tangled in her hair, and hers were teasing up the sides of his waist, pulling up his polo as they went higher. Until Abby’s fingers laid flat against his chest, and she felt his heartbeat against her fingertips. Marcus gripped her hips, pulling her body closer to his, as she kissed his shoulders and neck. They needed to stop, before things went too far, too fast, and they couldn’t mess this up, _he_ couldn’t mess this up. But she was kissing him dizzy, and clearly enjoying her position above him, as her hips rotated slowly. He leaned forward to pay the same attention she’d given to his throat, to her own exposed neck. She leaned back, allowing him better access, and then they both jumped unexpectedly when a loud horn blared, _twice_.

Abby hid her face in the crook of his neck, as they laughed so much their chests were in pain. Marcus kissed the top of her forehead before she sat upright and fixed his hair as best she could. With one last kiss, she jumped back to her seat, grabbed her purse, and they both stepped out of the car almost bashfully. His hand found the small of her back, as he led her up the stairs until they were both standing underneath the dim light of the porch.  

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs bringing her face closer to his, as his hands find that spot she loves behind her head, “and charming,” he kisses the tip of her nose, “and a much better drinker than me,” he chuckles before kissing the top of her head, “and for the record _you_ jumped _me_ in the car.” 

“I did,” Abby laughs, hiding her face in his chest, “I did.” 

“So,” he says lifting her head up to look at him, “did I earn a second _real real_ date?”  

“If you answer a question for me,” she tells him biting her lip. 

“Anything,” he tells her.

Abby takes a long pause before bringing his hands from behind her head, to hold within her own between them.  

“Are you religious?” she whispers looking down, “I just - I saw the chain in your car, and if you are, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide that from me if it’s important to you.”  

Marcus stares at her for a long time, deciding how to answer, reluctantly he takes his hands out from hers, and runs them nervously through his hair. Abby can sense she’s hit a nerve and decides maybe this wasn’t the right time to ask that question.

“That was a gift from my mother,” he finally says, “as a boy, we spent every Sunday at church, because she was very involved, and when I graduated high school it was her parting gift to me as I left to college.” 

Abby watches him closely, as his shoulders tense, and he looks suddenly very ready to leave her porch, with his hands in his pockets, “And you keep it in your cars coin case?” 

“It usually hangs from the rear view mirror Abby,” Marcus says agitated.  

“Then why was it there?” 

“Does it matter?” his words cut through the air so violently, that Abby takes a step back and her arms find their way around her body. Marcus hates himself for reducing her to a sudden state of self-consciousness. 

“Listen,” Abby states in an equally hard tone, “I didn't know you were going to react like this when I asked. If you don't want to tell me that’s _fine_.” 

“No, it’s not,” Marcus says running a hand over his face, that suddenly looks tired, “it’s not fine because you’re so obviously _not_ okay with this.” 

Abby doesn’t reward his assumption with an answer because he’s right. Her body language is the complete opposite of what she’s telling him. So she stands silent and waits for him to say or do anything. The stillness of the both of them almost becomes too much, and she wants to make a break for her front door. This was not how she imagined their night closing out.  

“Abby come here,” he tells her softly, his hands falling loose at his sides in defeat. 

“No,” she shakes her head defiantly.  

“Abby,” he repeats a bit more roughly, “ _come here_.” 

They stare down each other until Abby closes the space between them with small steps. His arms wrap around her and bring her into him. She doesn’t fight him but doesn’t hold him back either.  

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs in her ear, “I wasn’t ready to talk about my mom, so I took it off before I knocked on your door earlier this night.” 

“Marcus,” Abby begins, but he continues. 

“And I’m still not ready Abby,” he tells her honestly, “I’m sorry if that upsets you. But _yes_ that chain means a lot to me.” 

He feels Abby nod against his chest, and her arms slowly wrap around his frame. She enjoys the warmth of him, knowing he will tell her when he’s ready. Abby had forgotten how it felt to start this process all over again. It’s not like you met somebody and at the touch of a second, you transferred all moments from the others lives. Time was the answer to all the questions they had and would have, and even if she didn’t know this about him yet, it did not ruin the night they spent together.  

Abby lifted her head, and told him, “Clarke’s asleep, are you going to kiss me or not?”  

And he did.  

Abby closed the door after watching him sit safely in his car, and leaned against the back of it, smiling to herself, before heading upstairs with a full heart.

Marcus backed out of her driveway, and at the next stop sign, pulled out his pack of cigarettes from the middle compartment, rolled down his driver seat window, and lit one.   

 _For I'm so scared of losing you_  
_And I don't know what I can do about it_  
_About it_  
_So tell me how long, love, before you go_  
_And leave me here on my own_  
_I know that_  
_I know that_  
_Tell me how long, love, before you go_  
_And leave me here on my own_  
_I know that_  
_I don't wanna know who I am without you_  
_I don't wanna know who I am without you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of Songs Mentioned:  
> Ben Howard -- Old Pine, Diamonds, Only Love  
> Bear's Den -- Red Earth & Pouring Rain, Magdalene, Agape
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this colossal chapter (truly sorry), and thank you all for the kudos and comments. It really means a lot!


	12. The Dates After

On the Friday after the concert, Marcus tells Abby, that he owes her lunch. He excitedly gets out of his car, and enters the hospital, making his way to the seventh floor -- where Abby said her office was. Marcus begins walking down the main hallway, about to ask the receptionist  _ exactly  _ where Abby’s office was located, before he wandered around for hours, when someone shouts at him from a room.

“Hey, you’re the beard!” a girls high pitched voice yells. 

Marcus stops dead in his tracks, wondering if that comment was directed at him. He slowly looks around, until he sees a young girl standing in the middle of her doorway, in a maroon cotton t-shirt dress and beat up black converse. Part of her hair is covering half an eye, but she’s rolling the both of them dramatically at him. 

“Does it look like anyone else around here has a beard?”  she puts her weight on one foot and puts a hand on each side of her hips. 

“Well you’re right I have a beard, I didn’t know it was that fascinating,” he answers, fully facing the child. 

“Your Doctor Abby’s  _ boyfriend _ aren’t you?” she teases him with a big smile, and he’s so surprised by her words that he momentarily freezes, “And you  _ didn’t _ bring her flowers?? What kind of boyfriend are you?”

Marcus flushes, and nervously picks at the collar of his white pocket t-shirt, “Wait, wait, wait,” he shakes his hand in front of him, “Who are  _ you?  _ And how do you know about me?” 

“I’m Reese,” she sticks out her hand to shake confidently, and Marcus holds it gently even though she tries very hard to squeeze his hand with force, “and I’m Doctor Abby’s  _ best friend _ .”

He can’t help but laugh lowly at this, “Oh you are? How could I have missed this important piece of information?”

“Reese!” someone calls from behind him, and the young girl smiles mischievously crossing her arms in front of her, “Stop chiding Marcus.”

Marcus has come to pick out that voice from any crowd, anywhere, at any time. It’s his favorite voice to hear over the phone and mere millimeters from his face. The two of them turn to find Abby, in a white coat and all, sporting a pencil skirt and plum silk dress shirt underneath. Marcus has yet to see her in work attire, and although he knows he’d be attracted to her if she was wearing a potato sack, nothing can help the increased pulse running through his veins as his eyes consume her in full professionality. She approaches them, and Reese side steps Marcus, complaining aloud, “He didn’t even bring you flowers!”

“Apparently this is a breaking point,” Marcus runs his hand over his face exaggeratedly, “How could I possibly have forgotten the flowers?”

“Well there’s still time,” Reese says as she grabs Abby’s hand and twirls her, until her back is facing Marcus, “stay like this, don’t move!” Reese warns Abby. Then she quickly races to Marcus’s side and grabs his hand, pulling him in the direction of the stairs. She tells him knowingly, “They have another gift shop on the fifth floor because that’s where all the babies are.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Marcus barely gets out before they’re racing down the stairwell together for two flights. 

“Yah it’s one of the happy floors,” Reese comments as they reach the sign with a big 5 on it. She attempts to swing open the heavy metal door, but Marcus helps her keep it ajar for the both of them, “Ever seen a baby be born?” 

“No I haven’t,” Marcus comments shyly, as they step out into the hallway. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Reese murmurs with her eyes wide, “I hear it’s barely short of a horror film. But like with a happy ending I guess.”

And Marcus chuckles loudly at this. Reese was a treat, an actual gift to the world. They make their way to the gift shop on the corner of the main hallway. It’s across from a cozy waiting room, filled with two families who look like they’ve been sitting a while. He suddenly feels awkward in the setting they have barged in on. But before he can assume his place as an outcast, Marcus feels Reese pull on his hand lightly before she whispers, “Wait, this is my favorite part,” and they freeze at the entrance of the gift shop. 

Marcus sees a tired looking man in scrubs walk down to the waiting room and tell something to one of the families. Only seconds later they all smile  _ big _ and hug each other in what look like the tightest hugs a person can give. The man no longer looks tired, but joyful. 

“My dad says that’s how it was when I was born, and Doctor Abby says that’s how it was when Clarke was born too,” Reese says quietly, “They bring me down here when I’m feeling sad sometimes, to remind me how happy I made them.”

Marcus stares down at the young girl, who is smiling softly to herself, and then he says, “You _still_ _make_ them happy.”

That’s when Reese sighs, “Not while I have this tumor in my brain I don’t.”

Then as if nothing, she walks into the gift shop, leaving Marcus speechless at the doorway. The cashier smiles at them before Reese stands on her tiptoes and smacks the counter lightly, “He needs a bouquet quick! Doctor Abby will get impatient,  _ trust me _ .” 

Marcus clears his throat, “What she said, please.” And the lady goes to grab a pre-made bouquet of white and light pink freesias. Marcus pays quietly and then is handed the bouquet wrapped in brown paper. This time they walk down the stairs and find that Abby has moved from the spot they left her in and is now chatting up one of the nurse’s at their desk. 

Reese coughs loudly, a little short of breath from climbing back up two flights of stairs, and Abby turns in her heels to face the duo. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and Marcus’s breath completely halts when her light brown eyes stare at him lovingly. Abby slowly strides to stand in front of them, and her head bows bashfully when he holds the flowers out to her, and she takes them with a blushing face. 

“Thank you, Marcus,” she tells him sweetly.

“What a bonehead move,” Reese comments under her breath, “you’re welcome,” she whispers nudging Marcus on the hip. Marcus ruffles the top of Reese’s head before pulling Abby in closer with one of his arms. Then just as he’s about to kiss her cheek, Reese squeals, “Ew! Wait don’t kiss, don’t kiss!” she shakes her little fingers disgusted, shuts her eyes, and then turns around, “Okay,” she breathes covering her ears, “ _ now _ you can kiss.”

Abby laughs lowly, moving in closer to Marcus, “I think she likes you.”

“Well she is your  _ best friend, _ ” he teases before capturing her lips with his own. Abby melts against him, her knees going weak the slightest of bits, and she has to remind herself she’s still  _ at work _ . Their kiss ends quicker than the either of them would like, and Abby leads Reese back to her bed, saying she’ll check on her later. But just as they're about to exit the room, a nurse grabs Abby’s attention, leaving Reese and Marcus alone for a minute. 

“Hey beard,” Reese says signaling him over to her bed. 

“Marcus remember,” he says coming to stand by her, with his arms crossed. 

“Yeah yeah beard,” Reese waves him off, “this is serious business.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “I’m all ears.”

Reese grabs his forearms before saying gravely, “Doctor Abby, is  _ my favorite _ , and if I find out that you are mean,” Reese raises to her knees on the bed so she’s at eye level with Marcus before she whispers, “or if you make her cry,” then she grabs his face in between her hands, “I will get my dad to beat you up. Got that beard?” 

“I promise Reese,” Marcus says sticking out his pinky, “I won’t do that.”

Reese looks down at his finger before, placing her own with his, binding him to the most unbreakable vow a child could give.

* * *

In the private confines of Abby’s office a few minutes later, Marcus watches as she shrugs off her coat, and reaches for her purse, hidden inside one of the desk drawers, and plops it on the old wood before grabbing a chest full of binders. They’re running a few minutes late, but he hardly minds.

As Abby finishes shelving rings of information he can’t possibly attempt to understand, Marcus sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her front. He feels her body immediately relax back into him. His lips nuzzle the space between her neck and shoulders, and Abby sighs, momentarily losing track of why she still had three binders in her arms.

“Continue,” Marcus says playfully, as he inhales the scent of her perfume, and feels her light hair tickle against his chest. 

“I’m trying,” Abby murmurs as she focuses her attention on the titles she’s written on the sides of each plastic binder. In this moment she can’t even read her own handwriting, and it’s all his damn fault.

“That one has a red label,” he whispers lowly, “so I’m guessing it goes with all the other red labels.” 

Abby’s hands are shaking slightly, and her eyes confirm the red label at the top, telling her he was right. She nods wordlessly, and his lips meet her pulse point as she lifts the binder and quickly shoves it into its respective place. 

“Yellow label,” he murmurs with another kiss.

“Happy to know you passed first grade,” Abby quips, before shoving this binder with its family as well. Then her head lulls back, and her eyes flutter close when she feels his tongue tease her skin before being chased by his lips once again. There’s only one damn binder left, and then the tormenting can stop. 

“No label,” Marcus says a little curiosity dripping from his voice. 

He feels her body slump forward and her head barely nods, before laying the last binder down in an unoccupied shelf space, alone, “that one’s Reese’s.”

Abby turns in his arms until her back falls against the wooden shelves she was just facing. Marcus has kept a hand at her waist, letting the other roam up her throat, and hold her jaw; his thumb brushing her bottom lip. There’s a glimmer of hesitation in her eyes, as she glances from him to her half-open door. 

“Why’s Reese here?” he asks gently, his hand never stopping its rotation over her lip. He watches cautiously as her eyes droop down between them, and her fingers reach out to play with the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

“In simple terms,” she says softly, “she’s going blind due to a tumor in her brain, that could eventually end up killing her.”

Marcus nods wordlessly, urging her to continue.

“I can surgically remove it,” Abby states moving her neck side to side, relieving invisible tension, “I know I can. But it’s _extremely_ _dangerous_ so I need all the arsenal I can get, in order for the board _and_ her father to approve the procedure. And the vote must be unanimous, which makes it even more difficult.”

“You’ll get it done Abby,” Marcus tells her in a strong voice, full of assurance. Abby wants to lift her lips to smile at his words of encouragement, at his words of belief. But she knows every side to this procedure, she knows every detail of Reese’s tumor, and if it were as simple as belief, she wouldn’t feel like throwing up every time she thought of all the things that could go wrong. 

“It’s a ten-hour surgery, Marcus,” Abby says, as her fingers cling onto his t-shirt, subconsciously tugging him closer to her, “a child shouldn’t be put under anesthesia for that long.”

“She’s strong Abby,” Marcus comforts her and when she refuses to look up at him, he says a little tougher, “and so are you.”

She lifts her head up at him, and then without another thought meets his lips gracefully. They’re soft, but then again, they’re always soft to her. His arms hold her tight, and he fights the urge to run his palms lower down her backside while she wears this pin skirt. Then Abby’s stomach growls and they pull apart laughing. 

“Always with the timing Abigail,” he chides her, before grabbing her purse off the desk and pulling her out of the office. 

* * *

The next time they meet it’s a bit more relatively normal than all their previous dates. They have dinner in an Italian kitchen. Enjoying the calmer side of town, opting to eat peacefully outside where conversation is a little lower compared to the indoor crowd. Sinatra rolls out from the speakers, and they have many questions about it. She orders wine and he orders an Italian mule. Her hair is falling over her bare shoulder, hardly covered by the thin strap of her long dark yellow dress. Halfway through their meal, Abby doesn’t think twice before lifting her fork, a spike full of rigatoni on it, for Marcus to try. Marcus, however, thinks multiple times before wrapping his mouth around the silverware and then forgets all his worries as the house-made sauce makes him moan. The waiter refills Abby’s glass, and gets Marcus another, before asking if they’re celebrating anything special.

“Yes, she finally gave me permission to take her out to a nice dinner,” Marcus says before Abby can answer, and it earns him a swat across his shoulder. 

“Then you must try the chocolate lava cake,” the waiter smiles. 

“And two coffees please,” he answers. 

They end dinner with a stupidly portioned dessert that surprisingly hits the spot for the both of them. And a drip coffee, that to Abby’s surprise, tastes good without creamer. Hand in hand, they walk back to Marcus’s car warmed by the remnants of alcohol. They pass by a lively cantina, and Abby halts their progression. She listens intently to the upbeat Latin music blaring from the outdoor bar and turns to Marcus with a mischievous grin. 

“No,” he shakes his head furiously at the question dripping from her eyes, and begging from her grip on his hands. 

“Come on it will be fun,” she pleads pulling at him a little more. 

“I don’t-” he gruffs, “Abby no, I don’t know how, and you’ll laugh at me-”

“Then make me laugh Marcus,” she closes in on him, their toes and chests brushing, “I won’t ask again.

The entire time she hasn’t stopped smiling and  _ God _ she looked good in that dress.

“I take you to a five-star restaurant, with wine fifteen dollars a glass,” he states exasperated, and then points to the chalkboard sign on the sidewalk, showcasing the beverage specials, “and you insist on going to a cantina with seven dollar margaritas.”

“I bet you they’re damn good margaritas too,” she giggles and then pulls him towards the metal gate, of which he follows dragging his feet, “and to be clear, I’m a woman of many sides thank you.” 

“Oh, I’m learning that,” he remarks quickly. 

There’s a band playing, and the dance floor is crowded, to say the least. But to their bare eyes, they don’t see kids gyrating on each other, or jumping up and down wildly. Instead, people are spinning gracefully, and holding their hands above their heads as their hips move in sync. And Marcus has never been more terrified in his life. 

“Abby these are professionals,” he holds her back against him. She doesn’t pay him any attention as she leads him to the bar, and orders three shots of patron. The bartender shoots them a contagious smile and places their glasses and limes in front of them within seconds, and Abby closes out her tab. 

“I’m guessing the extra is for me?” he asks her, but doesn’t wait for her answer before he continues, “Also do we still take shots at our age? We’ll combust.” 

“You’re nervous,” she teases him, “and I need you to not be nervous at  _ this _ moment. So tequila.”

“Who let you become a licensed physician?” he mutters before downing the patron without a warning, a disgusted face follows suit. Abby watches his discomfort trying her best not to laugh, “Oh my God, I haven’t had tequila in years,” he coughs roughly, and then sticks out his tongue as if the air will magically take the strong taste away. 

Marcus lifts the next one ready to get it over with, motioning her to prepare as well. Abby grabs her shot with one hand and her lime with the other. 

“A chaser Abby?” he shakes his head, “Weak.” 

Abby doesn’t have a chance to rebuttal, because Marcus has clinked their glasses, and now they’re both swallowing the strong alcohol. It stings as it flows down her throat, but a warm sensation follows, and she’s reminded why she likes tequila, to begin with. Abby tosses the lime at his chest, refusing to use it after his comment. Then as she opens her mouth to speak, his lips crash down on hers, and her arms loop instinctively around his neck. His hands are hot and she wants to feel them on her skin, instead of above the thin material of her dress. His fingers tease her lower back, but never past where her spine ends. She wants to smack him for being so timid, but she knows it’s his fear of crossing boundaries. It comes from a place of care. 

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” she tells him as they part for air, “I’ll lead, come on.”

“Abigail Griffin, you will be the death of me,” he murmurs, following her like a puppy.

“What a sweet death it will be,” she tosses over her shoulder. 

They only approach the border of the dance floor, leaving the middle to the professionals. But she doesn’t turn to face him, instead, Abby leaves her back to him, and grabs his hands from behind her and places them firmly on her hips. He can feel her against his groin when she starts moving. His hips follow hers in a steady rhythm, and just when he feels like it's too great a mixture of embarrassed and aroused, she lifts her hands above her head, holding his within her own, and twists her body down, before rolling her way back up. Then by some good grace, he’s able to follow her as they spin the other around, and then find their way back to each other's arms. His hands have come to hold her against his chest, his arms falling over her shoulders, linking fingers. 

“You’ve done this before,” he murmurs in her ear, but she never stops winding her waist to the smooth tempo. 

Until she spins around to face him, his hands falling to her small hips, “I have, yes. But it’s been a  _ long _ time.”

“You know I’m going to ask,” he taunts her stepping forward as she steps back, and then vice versa. 

“Later,” she states as she lifts his arms and spins herself around before the band begins a new song. 

_ Y hace tiempo siento que algo raro aquí está pasando _ _   
_ _ Y este pensamiento ya no me deja dormir en paz _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Son las 3:00 de la mañana y no has llegado _ _   
_ __ Sé que estás con alguien y lo estás negando 

Marcus twirls her back towards his arms, leaning his mouth down to her ear, as they move side to side not really keeping up with the beat anymore, “Don’t you want to know what they’re singing if you enjoy it this much?” 

Abby’s eyes squint the slightest and she cranes her neck back to look at him, “Can’t you just enjoy the music?”

“I  _ am _ ,” he rolls his eyes, spinning her back to her original place, her back to him as she brings her palm up and behind her to grasp the side of his neck. She holds his other hand at the cinch of her waist and feels his breath at her ear, and Abby’s a few seconds from telling him to shutup before he hums throatily, “The woman in the song feels like something is wrong, and it won’t let her sleep,” he begins and Abby’s hips still just the slightest, “It’s three in the morning and the man still hasn’t gotten home, she thinks he’s with someone else and denying it.”

_ Ay dime qué te dijeron, que yo te siento tan desconfiada _ _   
_ _ Yo sólo estaba con mis amigos tomando tequila en la madrugada _

Abby turns around and holds her hands behind his neck bringing his face closer to her, their bodies are covered with a thin layer of sweat, and the collar of his white dress shirt has been loosened immensely. 

“Of course you speak Spanish,” she shakes her head back and forth, and his smile turns into a wide grin, showcasing his perfect teeth, before he shrugs arrogantly, knowing fully well he understands many languages due to his job. “Continue,” she motions to him to keep translating.

Their movements have narrowed down to two simple sets. One step to the left, one to the right, and then two the left. Then, one step to the right, one to the left, and then two to the right. Alternating back and forth. 

Marcus leant down, his lips fluttering over hers, “The man is telling her that he was simply out with his friends, drinking tequila until dawn, having a good time.” 

_ Te garantizo que este loco _ _   
_ _ Te quiere como nadie te ha querido _ _   
_ _ Y yo te juro que no es la verdad _ _   
_ __ Cambia esa cara, te lo pido

“Oh really,” Abby raises her eyebrow at him. She can feel droplets of sweat accumulating at the back of her head, but she doesn’t mind because the same perspiration is making part of Marcus’s exposed neck glisten.

“Yes,” he pulls her in closer, practically making their bodies one, “He guarantees the woman that her assumptions are crazy,” his hand slides lower down her back, and now it feels like Marcus is leading them, “that he cares about her like no one has ever before, and begs her to see her assumptions simply aren’t true.” 

“Well this man better not be fucking around,” Abby says before pulling him down all the way to meet her mouth hungrily. With that, Marcus gently lifts her and backs them out of the dance floor, and against the nearest metal column, near a corner of the ground floor. The cantina is barely lit where Marcus pushes her up against the cold aluminum. Her hands slide down the base of his neck, and she feels her dress sticking to her thighs when he tries and fails at lifting the fabric higher than her knees. It’s too damn hot, and the alcohol, although a great alternative for a calming pill, only added to the heat they felt. 

Abby pulls back from his lips, and holds his face in her hands, “There you go, two handsome strangers in a dark corner,” her lips lift into a sly smirk, “just like you wanted,” she laughs, referencing the night they met at the museum.

“Just like  _ you _ wanted,” he chides her, leaning down to peck her lips more gently, “come on, we got to go.” He doesn’t miss Abby’s frown, so he explains, “You had a spontaneous spot, now so do I.” 

Before she can protest, he’s pulling her out of the cantina and back onto the street. 

* * *

“Abby, don’t fall asleep we’re almost there,” he reaches over to shake her bare shoulder gently. 

“We’ve been driving for like thirty minutes,” she mumbles as she turns on her side, leaning her head on the car door, and curling up her legs on the sleek seat as much she can in her dress. The aircon is on its lowest setting, and his music is only a hush to their ears. They’ve been on the expressway for about twenty minutes, and the dull glow of the yellow lights roams over her face in intervals. 

She doses off against his request and wakes up to the voice of a man that’s not Marcus. They’re chuckling softly, and Abby pries her sleepy eyes open to find Marcus shaking the hands of a security guard, and talking about the mans family. Her eyes adjust to dark setting, and the only thing she can make out is the gate in front of them that says “No Entrance” in red letters. But to her surprise, the security guard has walked over and begun rolling it open for them, with one last wave at Marcus before he drives them inside. 

“Where the hell are we?” Abby mumbles, trying not to rub her eyes, knowing she’ll get black smudges of mascara all over her cheeks. 

“Deductive reasoning Abby,” he teases as they drive along a smooth surface until his car comes to a stop, and he turns it off. She watches as he opens his door and steps out, walking around and opening her door as well. Hesitantly, Abby grabs his hand as he pulls her on her feet. The night has turned to a cool breeze, and she sees little reflections on the ground. 

“Marcus where are we?” she asks him, as he leads her to the hood of his car. He doesn’t say a word, as he lifts her gently to sit on the hard metal. Unlike her, he leans back against it, and she watches him stay silent, even though her stare is boring into the side of his face. She knows he can see her, and Abby restrains herself from asking him again where they were. So she sits and looks around at the scenery,  _ deductive reasoning my ass _ , she thinks. 

She can make out a tree line not too far from the end of the pavement, and given it took them about forty-five minutes to arrive wherever the heck they were, she knows that they are far from the Polis nightlife. She thinks maybe she can see buildings farther down the land, but can’t be sure. Then she hears it. 

The loud whir of an engine, the same sound that would shake her home as a kid, imaginatively at least. Her head lifts up, and as long as her eyes aren’t betraying her, she’s sure that a plane is coming right for them. Her pulse is rising, as the plane approaches closer to them and closer to the ground. Instinctively her hand reaches for his forearm, but Marcus doesn’t say a word. Abby fights closing her eyes, watching as the plane flies right over their heads, and lands only a thousand feet away. 

And again, the world is silent.

“You snuck us into a landing strip for planes,” her breath is ragged and her chest is rising and falling and rising and falling, “you idiot.”

Marcus turns to face her then, a shy smile on his lips, “I didn’t sneak us in, a guard _let us_ _in_.”

“Who am I dating?” she whispers to herself and dramatically throws her body back to lay down on the solid hood of his car. 

“CEO Marcus Kane,” he teases as he turns to hover over her, dragging her body back down, so that his waist settles between her thighs. He leans down, and brushes some stray hairs out of her face, “but for you, just  _ Marcus _ remember.”

Abby’s eyes flutter close as she feels his breath on her neck, “And exactly how many women have you used this place on?” she inquires as his hands follow the path from her ankle to stop right above her knee. 

“Only you,” he murmurs his lips nipping at her skin, his fingers making small circles on her thigh. 

The night grants them the illusion of cover, as the wind chills their skin enough to crave the heat of each other. Abby feels the pressure of his chest against her, and closes her eyes, allowing herself the pleasure of his weight. It had been a while since she had been underneath anyone, and her first time on the hood of a car. Marcus lifts his head from her neck, and she feels his beard scratch her jaw before his lips capture hers. Then she hears it again, the loud sound in the air from another arriving plane. He leaves her lips and looks up at it fly above them, and Abby watches him. She fixates on the tiny look of childish wonder in his eye, and the way his breath stops momentarily as the plane floats directly atop them. 

When he faces back to her and bows his head to continue kissing her, Abby places a hand on his chest and pushes him back gently. 

“How often do you come here?” she asks him, as she pushes her body to sit up on the edge of his car. Marcus follows her movements, but Abby pulls his hips to stay between her legs. 

“I come here when I’m not feeling my best,” he shrugs, their hands playing mindlessly with each other in Abby’s lap.

“And how are you feeling right now?” Abby asks quietly, opening up his palm, and lightly tracing the distinct lines with her index finger. 

“I feel fuzzy and unbelieving,” he pauses to lick his lips slowly, watching as she focuses on the routine she’s made from his life line, to his head line, and lastly to his heart line, “and I feel happy,” he looks away telling her, “you make me happy, and that terrifies me.”

“So what you’re saying is I terrify you,” Abby teases him, a playful smirk pulling up the sides of her mouth. 

“You could break me to pieces,” he murmurs, “and I’ve never allowed someone the ability to do that.”

He doesn’t look back at her, as his confession lingers in the air. Abby lifts her eyes from his hand, to watch as he makes it his mission to find anything to fixate on but her. She places his palm and flips it to lay flat against the middle of her bare chest. 

“Marcus,” Abby says getting his attention, as she feels the heat of his hand on her skin, “feel that,” she tells him softly. He closes his eyes, refusing to watch her chest rise and fall underneath his fingertips. Her heartbeat is calm and collected, strumming against his skin in a slow tempo. Then she lifts one leg to curl around his waist, bringing him in closer, and her dress bunches at her mid-thigh. Abby holds his palm firmly against her sternum while bringing her other hand to his face and nudges him to look at her. 

“Come here,” she whispers, squeezing his tense jaw, and Marcus doesn’t want to turn. He doesn’t want to see her like this, to feel her like this, after he's confided something so deep because he's afraid of how she'll be looking at him. Her nails dig a little into his cheek before she repeats herself, “ _ come here _ .” 

That low throaty tone can make him do anything. So he does face her and looks down at his palm in the middle of her chest. He feels the swell of her breasts brushing his wrist and the border of his hand. He can feel her pulse underneath him, strong and steady. Then she brings him down to her completely, and their mouths meet smoothly, as his tongue teases her bottom lip. She keeps his palm at her heart, as he intensifies the kiss, unable to help himself as he lays her back down. One of her dress straps has fallen off her shoulder, and he takes the time to trace her skin in places he’s never felt, no matter how thin. His mouth follows the path his fingers have engraved on her shoulder and down where her strap once was. She tastes like a mixture of her citrus body wash and salt from their dancing earlier. 

Without thinking he hikes her dress up more and gropes the back of her thighs, bringing her closer to his waist. He hears her yelp slightly when he lays an open mouth kiss right above the top of her dress. He thinks about one simple pull at the strap he could maneuver with his teeth, bringing it further down, exposing more of her. But he doesn’t want to do that yet, he doesn’t want to do that here. Even if every nerve and cell in his body is telling him,  _ fuck it _ . 

Then he hears her voice rasp out, “Now feel it.” 

He lifts himself slightly, following her eyes down to their connected hands above her heart. He concentrates on the feeling below his palm, and it doesn’t take much for the heavy and fast pulse to beat against him. He hadn’t noticed her chest heaving until his arm followed the same rhythm.

“And that’s just your touch,” Abby murmurs as Marcus watches her small hand hold his in place. He takes a moment to see the state he’s left them in, pupils dilated, skin shining from eachothers kisses, heels digging into his ass, his fingers marking her thigh.  _ God _ if she hadn’t had stopped him, he doesn’t know if he would have been able to. 

Then before he can lecture himself, she whispers, “You could break me too.”

Marcus brings his forehead to touch hers, and the tips of their noses brush, both of them smiling peacefully. Another plane roams above them, and this time Marcus watches Abby, as she follows the large piece of metal until she can no longer see it behind Marcus’s head. In this moment, they’re more content than the look in their eyes, they’re more alive than the blood running through their veins, they’re more sensitive than the nerves of their skin, and they’re more inviting to the future than their heads would ever let them believe. This moment felt like a thousand years, and as Abby ran her fingers through his hair, he knew no matter how high he climbed for this woman, if he fell and broke, he would never regret feeling this, feeling her, looking down at her like she couldn’t possibly even  _ like _ him.

“Stop staring at me like that,” she giggled, covering his eyes. 

“I’m in my favorite spot, with the girl who entered my life from left field, holding her in  _ my _ arms, how could I not stare at you like this?”

Abby’s hand falls from his eyes, “A baseball analogy?” she mocked him, “Gross. I thought you were supposed to be better at wooing people?” 

“The trick,” he starts explaining in a taunting tone, “is to woo them without them knowing they’re being wooed.”

“We’ve said the word woo too much, I don’t even think it’s real,” Abby laughs. 

“It’s a word,” Marcus answers her chuckles with a small peck. 

“And I’ve been tricked into being wooed,” Abby confirms, “maybe you are good at this.”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, “maybe.”

Abby holds him against her chest, running her hands down his spine and up, “Thank you for tonight,” she tells him, “for all of tonight.”

Marcus’s head whips up so fast it startled Abby, “So  _ where did _ you learn to dance like that?” He asks her without missing a beat, without fear.

Abby swallows before smiling softly, “I spent a year and some months in South America with Doctors Without Borders.”

“You saint,” Marcus spits out before kissing her passionately, “why am I not surprised?” 

Abby laughs throwing her head back, “Needless to say my parents were pissed that I didn't take an offer for a hospital in Portland straight out of med school. How does one explain humanitarianism and living simply to General Walters?” Abby poses a sarcastic question as she rises to stand up, “ _ Ding ding ding,  _ you don't! Instead, your financial support gets cut, and you are now the face of disappointment at every backyard barbecue and dinner party.”

Marcus watches as Abby runs a shaking hand through her hair, as she begins pacing in front of his car.

“Abigail, he would say,” And she begins in a deeper tone than her voice, “you had so much  _ potential _ . God, I hated that word.” She turns herself around on one foot, before stopping and crossing her arms in front of her, “Oh Abby, what a waste of  _ potential _ .” Her words slice through the night, and he’s never seen her eyes look so distant. “Yeah,” Abby breathes, “how dare I grow up and think I could use my ability to help those who didn't grow up with the same privileges as I did?”

Marcus watches as Abby's past unravels before him. He wants to coddle her. To tell her she is so much more than what they ridiculed. But her voice is a little high, and her fingers are clenching around herself a little too tight, and he can tell that he'll have to ride this one out on the sidelines. So, Marcus allows Abby her space, and listens intently, staying sat on the hood of his car.

“And  _ okay _ , I wasn't completely cut off. My mom still sent me secret checks every month. She still mailed me letters and cared. But my dad just wrote me off, as if everything else I had accomplished prior to leaving meant nothing.” Abby’s voice begins to shake, “As if I didn't graduate valedictorian of the stupid academy he sent me too, or get a full ride to Georgetown, or complete my residency at one of the top ten programs in the nation.”

Abby stops to take a breath before she looks over at Marcus, “Did I mention my dad was a doctor in the Marine Corps? Oh and not just as simple as that, he was the Surgeon General. Good ole Joe Walters!” 

Marcus bites his lip nervously, tugging at his beard. Imagining Abby growing up in a high-intensity environment, making sense of her bravery, and strength, and skill, and confidence, and attention to the little things. But listening to this, he gets the picture of her empathy and passion for others. Especially that of her daughter.

“It's been twenty-two years and I still get so riled up thinking about it.”

“Well it was only for a year and some months, surely he didn't stay angry forever?” Marcus asks timidly. 

“Mm not exactly,” Abby’s mouth goes in a straight line, “I got pregnant. Promoting General Joe to Grandpa Joe. You could imagine his excitement.”

Marcus tries to keep his baffled look hidden, so many questions raising flags in his mind.

“Abigail,” she mimicked her father in a dark tone, “what kind of God damn stupid do you have to be in order to get knocked up when you’re a fucking doctor?” She waves her hand wildly in the air. “You’d think I was sixteen, with the boy who took my virginity. Not twenty-seven with my first love.”

Marcus doesn't hesitate when he says, “Jake.”

Abby’s face softens, and her shoulders slump, “Yes.”

To fill their growing silence, a plane flies over them. 

Marcus doesn’t mean to get hurt, but he can’t stop the squirming feeling rising from his stomach up to his throat. Of course, she met Jake saving lives and building communities. While he was learning how to negotiate for better pay, and build proper business models, and  _ lead _ a team -- they were participating in service. And Marcus has never felt shame for pursuing a career in business, but the look on Abby’s face as she recalls meeting her husband has suddenly made him self-conscious. 

_ If we had met when I was in graduate school and you were a new doctor, you would have loathed me. You wouldn’t even have given me a second of your day. And I would have tried to fuck you. Because God if you’re beautiful now, I would have been equally attracted to you then. But I would’ve tried to fuck you, and then I would have left in the middle of the night. And the next night, I’d probably think of you when I fucked someone else. Because there is no way someone sleeps with you and is able to think of anyone else under them after.  _ Marcus thinks this but says nothing, as the loud sound of the plane’s engine disappears. 

“Don’t do that,” her voice brings him back to the present.

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking,” Marcus growls.

Abby walks towards him, “You’re imagining late twenties Marcus and Abby meeting,” she states without remorse. “But you forget that I’m not who I was then either.”

“Abby, I admire your attempt to meet me halfway on the whole growth train,” Marcus says cooly, “but you weren’t a boy set on getting out of small town Meta Park, who gave no fucks about who he hurt on his way out and up, as long as he got the  _ fuck _ out of there.”

His words halt her, and sends a chill up her toes and through her fingertips, a few feet away from him she rasps, “Marcus-”

“We can’t all be from a home that provides us with private schools, and the support and resources to excel to our best ability. Where your dad's greatest disappointment is that you wanted to pursue a life of service, and not cash a six-figure check every year.”

“That’s not fair,” Abby’s eyes narrow, and he sees her jaw clench, but he can’t stop himself from continuing. 

“Well that’s  _ life _ ,” he runs a hand over his face, “It’s not  _ fair _ , so you pick up the pieces yourself. You make  _ decisions _ . You make  _ choices _ . You make  _ actions _ .” His voice booms harshly, as he pushes his weight off the car and turns away from her, “You forget the man who left the day you were born, and you look around at your small wooden house, and you think to yourself if I don’t leave now I never will. And you don’t look back. You don’t answer the calls of your past, you move forward, and you  _ learn _ . You create the kingdom you dreamed of, and you make sure your children don’t endure the mundane environment you were brought up to tolerate, to love even.”

His outburst ends in a solemn tone. Flashes of his childhood have made his blood boil and simultaneously make his head hurt and his chest ache. It makes him angry to think about his upbringing, and he knows that. He hates himself for wanting to punch a wall, for wanting to yell out how frustrating it's been to be able to appreciate his success because:  _ On what fucking grounds? On what burned bridges? On what deep desolation has he spiraled down to be able to justify his bad behavior for years at a time?  _

But his rage no longer hurts him alone. No, it doesn’t just hurt him when he yells out in frustration, it also hurts  _ her _ . 

“Marcus,” Abby says quietly, “ _ I hear you _ ,” her eyes sting with unshed tears, “but the next time you want to torment yourself on your past, don’t belittle my pain to accomplish it.”

And he stands there thinking,  _ I am a fucking idiot _ . There were a million different ways to share with Abby the surface above the scars he hides so deeply, and this was  _ not _ how it was supposed to go. How narcissistic and egocentric did he have to be to flip the conversation around from her troubles to his inability to confront his demons, and then simply state her pain was not the same as his. For him to take a measure, was cruel. 

Abby walks past him and to her passenger door, “Now, take me home.”

Marcus shuffles over to her quickly, his legs feeling like noodles beneath him, his breath wild, “Abby-”

“ _ Take. Me. Home.”  _ she snarls, meeting his gaze straight on. 

His hands feel numb as he reaches out to cup her face, but they stop short mere inches from her face when she growls, “ _ Don’t _ .”

She turns to open the door herself, and it barely makes it a foot ajar before Marcus slams it closed once again. Abby is trembling, and she’s biting down roughly on both lips, to help stop the bubbling cries from coming out of her mouth. She forgot how this part felt. The part when it wasn’t all sunshine and flowers, or peaceful normality, or lust. The part when you decide whether or not you can let the person standing before you have a bad  _ moment _ or a bad  _ day _ . Deeming their care and inherent natural goodness towards you, authentic enough to withstand the bad  _ scenes _ and fix the root of the problem.

Marcus’s hand stays strong firmly holding the car door shut, and Abby’s body remains frozen in front of him. Then she hears his strained voice at her back, “I-” his lungs fill with air in a dry sob, “I don’t know how to  _ do this _ Abby,” his forehead falls on the base of her spine, and his chest warms her figure. She feels something wet run down her back, and when she turns around Abby finds his eyes rimmed red, a few tears rolling down his cheeks against his own will, “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Abby feels her heart crack at the sight in front of her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he bows his head, as his shoulders shake, “I’ve never,” Marcus swallows, “I’ve never had someone to tell these things to. And I forget …” his voice fades, as he tries to find the right words.

“That you talk to yourself so much crueler than any human should talk to himself,” Abby fills in the gaps of his mind, as her palms raise to hold his face, bringing it closer to her, “You can’t let that self-vindication consume the environment around you when sharing your past Marcus. Or you’ll never be able to walk through it.”

Marcus stares at her in unbelief. 

“I’m working on it,” he whispers, “you’re helping me … work on it.”

Abby’s mouth lifts into a soft smile, “I know.”

* * *

  
Marcus hates being a taker with Abby. In comparison to every woman, he’s ever been with, of which he’s taken everything without guilt. Their body, their trust, their secrets, their love, their  _ time _ . But he doesn’t allow himself to simply  _ take _ from Abby, without  _ giving _ in double. 

With every inquiry into his past, he remembers to be mindful of hers as well. It’s been working so far because he hasn’t hit the worst of times yet. He hasn’t made it to the beginning of his mid-twenties.  _ That part can wait _ , he thinks,  _ it can wait _ . 

The next couple of days progress their relationship faster than either of them have ever pursued another person. He shows up at her house for a movie date, only to be drenched by a storm the weather app failed to mention. So they stay in Abby’s house watching  _ The Theory of Everything _ . Clarke joins them when the pizza has arrived and sits the farthest away from the couple on the soft plush couch. Wilson doesn’t give two craps about personal space and plops himself in between them, half on Abby’s lap, and half on Marcus’s

To her own dismay, Clarke does sneak a glance at them when she hears her mom snore softly. Abby looked peaceful, with her hand on Wilson’s back, and her head on Marcus’s shoulder. 

On another date, Marcus proposes an afternoon on the lake with Octavia and Clarke, before the annual fireworks show at the Polis Auditorium. Although Abby bites her nails in anxiety of their daughters' meeting, it ends up alright. Both young girls are equally as shy and nervous at first, but Octavia and Clarke are discussing pop culture, and books, and each other's interests by the second hour -- hardly paying attention to the adults at all.

Abby and Marcus share a canoe, and Octavia and Clarke each get their own paddleboard. They all share slices of fresh fruit and enjoy the day outside. Until the day turns to night, and they sit on the wooden deck with a hundred other Polis residents and watch the firework show right above their heads. Marcus and Abby share a kiss underneath the illumination of different colors, while Octavia and Clarke both document the show on their different social media platforms.

Before Abby and Clarke get in their car to head back home, Abby holds Marcus’s hand within her own a few feet from her Acura. 

“I know something you don’t,” she teases.

“What’s that?” he murmurs.

“I can’t tell you,” she smiles mischievously, “it’s  _ top _ secret.

“You tease,” he shakes his head. 

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” she pecks his lips. 

“I won an award from the hospital didn’t I?” he states, his eyes boring into hers. 

Abby smacks him before laughing, “You suck!” 

“No,  _ you suck! _ ” he laughs “You’re a terrible secret holder.  _ You’ll find out tomorrow _ ,” he repeats her words, “Tomorrow when we both attend the dinner gala for donors of the Children’s Hospital?  _ Deductive reasoning  _ Abby.”

“You and your stupid  _ deductive reasoning _ ,” Abby rolls her eyes, but he kisses her anyway. 

“You do know that they tell the recipient of the award days in advance so that they prepare a speech right?” Marcus raises his eyebrow at her.

“You knew?” Abby asks shocked. 

“Of course I knew,” he nods his head laughing. 

“Well that’s no fun,” she retorts. 

“Oh come on,” he pulls her closer, “I get to attend a dinner with Chief of Surgery, Dr. Abigail Griffin by my side? It’ll be fun, I’ll make sure of it.” 

Marcus smiles, missing the twinkle in her eye before Abby kisses his cheek, and pulls him in to murmur in his ear, “And maybe you’ll get lucky, maybe.”

His breath stops short, and his neck flushes, as she giggles and enters her car, Clarke fast asleep in the back seat. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned: 3 a.m. by Jesse & Joy (There are two versions of this song, btw.)
> 
> I'm emotionally exhausted from writing this chapter but super excited to get to the meat of this story. Thank you guys for continuing to read this AU, I am amazed by every kudos and comment. Next chapter will involve Jackson, Nathan, Juliet, Children's Hospital Gala, and much more. I swear we're moving somewhere!


	13. Damage Response

Marcus had been to the Annual Polis Children’s Hospital Gala before. Only on the sparse years that something unpredictable happened was when he was unable to attend. Whether it be because they saved Octavias life or that he believed it was his first step to salvation, every year for the past nine years, he had always written a significant check made out to the hospital.

However, he had never paid much attention to the surrounding guests, unless approached personally by one. And evidently at the end of the night, he never went back to his hotel room alone.  On the other hand, Abby had looped her arm through Jake’s, and the couple only revolved around the other; drinking free champagne and lowkey shit talking the many  _ odd _ fashion choices. But most of all they made up stories of conversations they couldn’t hear, at tables they were not a part of, just by the basic physicality of the guests. 

So, you could imagine both his and Abby’s surprise when they found out they’d been in the same place, for at least four hours, once a year, for nine years, and had never talked to the other.  _ What the actual fuck God _ , Marcus thought. But in God’s defense it was almost a five hundred headcount, with practically sixty large circular tables, a dance floor, and stage. People gossiped that all the donor money went into the Gala, and not the actual children themselves. A horrible joke, but a joke nonetheless.

On the first Friday of August, the doors to the most lavish hotel in Polis opened to women and men in their finest dresses and suits. The concrete steps leading up to the tall crystal entrance was illuminated with a lavender glow. The lobby’s chandelier sparkled on everyone’s skin, and the hum of several conversations overtook the soft music playing from the event room itself. 

Marcus wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, while he waited at the bottom of the steps of the lobby staircase, when he saw Abby waltz over to him. She held a black clutch in her hands, and her honey skin glowed in the lincoln green dress that fit her figure snug, with thin straps, and a flowy mermaid train. It was a simple gown, made with one kind of fabric, that looked oh so soft. There were no different patterns, or crazy stitching, it was such an Abby dress. Tell that description to anyone but Marcus and Clarke, and they wouldn’t get it. 

Marcus couldn’t help but grin widely as she blushed, hiding her face behind the hard black clutch. Abby’s hair was parted down the middle, with soft waves accenting her cheekbones, and a dewy makeup look really concentrating on bringing attention to her almond shaped brown eyes. She wore a simple thin silver necklace, and small silver stud earrings. 

Before pulling her into his arms, Marcus grabbed her hand and twirled her around, noticing the cut in the back of the dress showcasing her middle and lower back. Their emotions were contagious as random passersby shot them small encouraging smiles, and tried to mind their own business, failing miserably. 

“Marcus, stop,” Abby giggled hiding her face in his chest when he finally stopped to reel her in.

“If I could whistle I would,” he told her honestly, threading his fingers through her hair, and not waiting one more second to bring her mouth to his. 

When they parted and she took her own look over at him, something in Marcus shifted. She shoved her clutch in Marcus’s hands, and her nimble fingers tugged his tie loose. Reading the blush before it crawled up his chest, Abby turned them around so his back faced the crowd. She tightened and looped the material to her liking, as he stood frozen in place.

Marcus’s throat tightened at the sight before him. Abby hadn’t looked up as her fingers worked meticulously. He could see the freckles barely hidden behind her tinted moisturizer, and the sharp shape of her eyebrows, with the glow of highlight resting at the top of her cheekbones, and the tints of golden strands illuminated by the chandelier. He could smell the same elegant perfume from the night he pulled her on his lap in the small photo booth. Without thinking he leaned down to press his nose against the top of her scalp. Abby’s fingers stilled on his lapels, and she subsequently bowed her head.

Never had Marcus been in this position in his life. Almost like all moments he was with Abby, he found himself introduced to a new light in the paths he’d walked before. He’d attended this exact event years previous, but now he had someone with him, that he adored, from the beginning of the night until the end. He had someone who would take a seat next to him at the table, someone who would help pull him away from conversations he no longer had the stamina to endure, someone who he could place his palm at the small of their back while socializing, someone who squeezed his hand when he was getting heated at an ignorant opinion, someone who laid a hand on his knee under the table, someone who was his partner throughout the night. 

That’s who Abby was to him now and he would have called whoever said he’d have this in his lifetime a pathetic liar or a fool. A fool to believe bachelor Marcus Kane would be seen with his arm around a petite woman, looking up at him with shining eyes, like he said the funniest sentence to man. A fool to believe Marcus Kane would nonchalantly steal a sip of water from his dates glass, because the service was running rampant trying to provide for hundreds of people. A fool to believe Marcus Kane would introduce her before himself in every scenario, and kiss her temple while she talked and continued her thought unphased. Most of all, a fool to believe the woman guiding him throughout the night, sharing sweet domestic kisses and secrets in the ear of the other, would be  _ the _ Chief of Surgery of the hospital being celebrated that night. Whether Abby was aware of it or not, she was kind of a  _ big deal _ . 

“No, you don’t understand how grateful I am for Abby,” Juliet’s husband had leaned over to tell Marcus while the two women got caught up in a separate conversation, “when we moved here, I was preparing for the worst. People see Jules’s talent and they want to work her to the wire. Abby doesn’t do that. She does the  _ opposite _ . Always tryin’ give time for Juliet to go on some kinda vacation, take  _ a _ day off, or at least grab lunch.”

Marcus chuckled, “Have to make sure Abby takes her own advice.”

“They look out for each other,” Juliet’s husband smiled, “but I gotta tell ya. You mess this up, I might be roped into kickin’ your ass.”

“Noted,” Marcus nodded gulping down some of his wine. Abby grabbed his attention as her fingers laced through his under the table, and she turned to ask a question about a small company he was providing creative assets for. Apparently, both Abby and Juliet were very interested in the salt scrubs they sold. However the inquiry quickly turned from a simple question, to a tale having crocodile tears dripping from Juliet and Abby’s face from laughing too hard, and then to a time that made space for both women in the others hearts. 

“So it’s pouring and I can’t see a thing and I’m hyperventilating in the car, and James is out of town, and it’s literally my  _ first _ day of work and I’m a mess,” Juliet shakes her head, hiding her face in her hands. 

“I get a call from a  _ very calm _ Juliet,” Abby laughs.

“After many breathing exercises. I have no idea how you didn’t hear the anxiety in my voice,” Juliet smiles softly, “and I had never driven in the city or its highways, so people were honking at me for whatever reason, and I’m reminding you once again that Poseidon really decided to lay it on me that day.”

“Hi Dr. Griffin,” Abby holds her hand to her ear pretending it’s a phone, “I hate to bother you but I think I’m lost, and my GPS is down, and-”

“And then I just started rambling, and kind of crying,” Juliet clenches her teeth into an awkward smile.

“ _ Kind of _ , just a little,” Abby confirms poking fun at her friend. 

“So I really don’t know how the rest of that conversation went, but I do remember that Abby told me to get off the expressway and send her where I parked, and that she’d go and pick me up. And when I hung up that phone I was like  _ I’m fired _ , how stupid and unprofessional? There’s no way she’s going to keep me on now!” Juliet continued reminiscing.

Marcus doesn’t miss when Abby and James roll their eyes.

“But no,” Juliet reaches over, and Abby places her palm on top of Juliet’s loose fist, “she arrived in no time, and brought me a rain jacket, and we ate and talked in a cafe until the storm died down, and then we went into work at ten that morning.”

“Look at that,” Abby mused, “I didn’t fire you.”

“You did not,” Juliet laughed as they let go of each other's hands slowly, “and I knew I made the right decision choosing the children’s hospital.” 

Abby’s eyes fall bashfully at the nice words and they flutter close in peace when Marcus leans in to caress her cheek with the tip of his nose. She’d never thought she would find this again. The rarity of it all has left her dubious to say the least. Although, it is a similar feeling of serenity, like a calm quiet breeze on a warm beach. Abby’s wise enough to know that no relationship is the same, because no two people are the same. Different parts of herself are highlighted with Marcus, like the ability to be carefree and yet a tad stronger in control, more acutely aware of the little things, and although she was stubborn in her natural right he challenged her to see situations through a different lens. 

So when he's introduced properly as Donor Of The Year by the President of the Board, she doesn't shy away from the kiss he plants on her lips, before standing up and buttoning his suit jacket as the room erupts in applause. She hates to admit it, but this was the first and only time she'd been with a man who was publicly recognized in such a grand way. Abby Griffin had  _ never _ been one to gloat about her or Jakes accomplishments. Not to say that she didn't enjoy the small intimate dinners with Jakes company and their high praise of his skill. But this new feeling running through her veins, watching Marcus waltz confidently to the podium, made her mind think,  _ that's my motherfucking man.  _ And if that's what possession felt like, she didn't feel bad for one split second. She'd preferred proud, over possession, but there was some definite overlap when several women eyed her down after she and Marcus had locked lips so intimately, if only for a brief moment.

“Thank you,” Marcus said clearing his throat, as the applause died down allowing for him to say his speech in comfort, “First and foremost I want to thank all those with large and small parts putting forth this one night a year, of which is always stunning and a delight to attend. Second, I want to thank President Gibson and the board of the Children’s Hospital of Polis for even thinking of me for this award. It truly is an honor to be considered Donor of the Year, given all the public serving and philanthropic people in this room.”

Abby watches as Marcus handles the attention with ease. She had never seen him in this form of professionality. It made it easy to grasp why so many folks wanted to work for him. 

“So let's get the elephant out of the room, some of you are sitting there wondering what the  _ hell _ a businessman is doing accepting a benevolent award over non-profit leaders, civil servants, and even other physicians.” 

The room laughs quietly, as does Abby, until a large picture is projected on the screen behind him. It's a photo of him and Octavia, a volleyball court in the background, and two gold medals hanging around her neck.

“This is my daughter Octavia,” Marcus’s eyes flicker behind him, before he takes a breath and continues, “She was rushed to the ER when she was four years old, and spent days in the ICU right here at the children’s hospital fighting quite literally for her life. The team working on Octavia pulled her through it all, and now she is about to turn sixteen. My life would have been substantially different should my daughter have died twelve years ago. But this hospital did more than just save her life, they gave her hope. They gave her a family away from her own. They cared.”

The room is at a complete standstill, so quiet a feather could be heard if it hit the ground.

“I've seen first hand how much thoughtfulness goes into each and every patient that enters their doors. They have a staff led by extraordinary people,” Marcus looks into the crowd finding Abby and she doesn't shy away from his stare, “performing extraordinary medicine, of whom Polis is lucky to have.”

Marcus pauses before exhaling, “I give to this hospital less than I owe, because I owe it my life. As a father I can't thank them enough. As the head of Ark Media Strategies, we pride ourselves on uplifting and supporting those who wish to leave a positive mark on Polis, and the world, as the Children’s Hospital does. We believe in social responsibility, authenticity, inclusion, and a genuine experience. It's with utmost gratitude that I accept this award, and I will continue to use my means to aid those who deserve credit where it’s due. Thank you again, and I hope you all continue to have a wonderful evening.”

With that, Abby and the rest of the audience applause one last time. Her eyes stick to him as he is handed the crystal statue, and takes a quick photo with President Gibson shaking hands. Not once do her eyes leave Marcus, even when Juliet murmurs in her ear, “What the  _ fuck _ Abby, where has Marcus been hiding, what the shit was that.” 

She simply turns her head slightly to answer her friend under her breath, “Right timing I guess.”

The clapping dies down as Marcus lays his award on the table, and sits down with a huff, “How was that?”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Abby and Juliet mimic each other in a high pitch. 

“Son of a bitch,” Juliet’s husband laughs shaking his side to side, making everyone at the table join in, “you need to write Senator Jaha’s speech instead because  _ Jesus Christ _ . Everyone falls asleep for that one at the end.”

And Abby can’t help as a loud chuckle erupts from her throat heartily. The entire table doesn’t disagree. However, usually where the President would sit and let the dinner continue into a dance, she has taken her position in front of the podium once more. 

“The award session isn’t over just yet,” she speaks in a sharp tone, gaining the attention of everyone with quizzical looks on their faces on the disturbance of the usual schedule, “I know we’re surprising you guys this year,” she smirks, “When I was sitting down thinking and drafting and thinking some more, on how I could possibly start a speech to recognize this woman I came up with a million places to begin. Her character, her skill, her leadership, her candor, her brain, but truly everything led back to her heart. She sets an example not only for her staff, but for the leadership team she’s been a part of for the past five years.  _ It’s impossible _ I often said to her, but she’d only come back with more research, and more paperwork, and the inevitable  _ but what if _ . I will never forget the day she was offered Chief of Surgery and she told me,  _ took you long enough _ .”

Abby’s heart flutters, as everyone at the table puts the pieces together, looking at her with surprise in their eyes. She directs her line of sight directly at Marcus and mouths,  _ did you know? _ To which he shakes his head, a grin growing on his lips. But she has already turned to Juliet and asked the same, receiving a matching answer. 

“Many of you may not be knowledgeable of the face behind miraculous surgeries and excellent work ethic found in all members of the children’s hospital. However, we’ve been grateful to have her as our Chief of Surgery for five years, and it is with great esteem that I present this Award of Recognition, to not only one of the greatest doctors I know, but one of the greatest humans -- Dr. Abigail Griffin.”

Abby’s legs are frozen, even as a roar of applause grows around her, she is stuck. Everything is a blur, and she can hardly comprehend Marcus’s kiss to her cheek, as Juliet practically shoves her up and out of her seat. Suddenly Abby feels  _ very _ self-conscious in her snug gown, and now that she thought about it, the cut out back may not be super appropriate for a Chief of Surgery to be wearing. Marcus’s senses her hesitancy and lays a hand on the bare small of her back, before leaning to murmur in her ear, “You look beautiful, and you  _ deserve _ this.” 

She nods, believing every word he says, his dark eyes dripping with sincerity. Abby tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and fully stands, making her way to the stage. Her hands are shaking when she accepts the matching crystal statue from the President, and in reverse to Marcus they take a photo immediately. Abby, almost takes the award and runs, but Gibson has motioned to the podium, and Abby’s breath hitches in her throat. 

The crowd hushes as she begins, “Someone earlier this week told me that they tell recipients of awards days in advance that they’ve won, so they can prepare a speech or thank you of some sort. To that person, you sit on a  _ bed of lies _ ,” she smiles wryly, and the crowd chuckles, Marcus blushes. The spotlight on Abby has made the aura around her a mix of admiration and respect, and Marcus sits taller, enjoying every second. There was something about Abby being the center of everyone's attention, and him having the ability to take her safely home at the end of the night, to know her beyond everyone’s adoration.

“Kind of mirroring what has already been said earlier tonight. Thank you to everyone involved with the planning and implementation of this event. I’ve been attending for about ten years now, and its elegance never fails.” Abby turns to President Gibson, whose sharp blue eyes watch her with a thin genuine smile, “Thank you to President Gibson and the board for this, I am  _ truly _ shocked, this completely came from left field,” Abby says her eyes twinkling as she looks at Marcus happy at her sly inside joke, and he shakes his head, chuckling to himself. 

“But I am grateful, so incredibly grateful, to work at this hospital, with this amazing staff. And by that I mean every single person who walks into the hospital; surgeons, doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, secretaries, clerks, assistants, residents, maintenance, sanitation, nutrition, and everyone in between.” She receives an impromptu applause, and inhales steadying her breath before it dies down once more, “But most importantly, the  _ children _ . It takes a lot of strength to be diagnosed or treated at the ages these kids are. It’s a tough job,” Abby’s voice fades, and Marcus can tell she’s lost in some thought, in some memory. Abby smiles sadly, “My husband used to say that.  _ It’s a tough job Abby _ ,  _ but you do it for the kids, you do everything to make sure they at least get a chance.” _

The room hushes, “And it’s true,” she clears her voice, straightens her posture, “we can never take for granted the innocence and hope children give us. They certainly have given me that, and I will continue dedicating my skill to giving them … a  _ chance _ . Thank you, and enjoy the rest of the night.” Abby wipes a stray tear quickly, and bows her head as she snatches the award from the podium and retreats back to her table. Applause and stares following her all the way. 

“Leave it to Abigail Griffin to make the award about her …  _ not _ about her,” President Gibson says shaking her head, laughing softly. 

Abby sits quietly back down in her seat, and appreciates when Marcus says nothing, but simply holds her fingers in his palm and kisses her temple. She accepts his unspoken support and happiness for her recognition by leaning her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. Abby collects all the emotions bubbling underneath her chest, ready to spew out, at the thought of Jake not being here to see this, and calms them down one by one by breathing in and out and focusing on her fingers intertwined with Marcus’s. She sends a loving thought to her deceased husband, before taking one final deep breath, and straightening herself up, becoming engaging once more. Marcus watches her recover thinking,  _ the strength of this woman.  _

The night moves along swiftly after that with both couples enjoying the dance floor for a short amount of time. Abby excuses herself to the bathroom before they return to their seats for dessert. As she turns the corner down the marbled hallway, she runs into a familiar face. One she felt very guilty for forgetting until now.

“Jackson!” she smiles and pulls him in for a hug, Abby notices very quickly how timid he embraces her back, “Where have you been all night?”

Jackson tightens his tie, his eyes roaming everywhere but her face, “I uh- me and Nate got here late, and our table was towards the back of the room.”

He looks behind her anxiously as if he's afraid someone will see them talking. Abby snaps her fingers in front of Jacksons frantic eyes. “Hey! Hello. What's wrong?”

His eyes fall, refusing to meet her gaze. Abby growls under her breath, “Jackson?”

He sighs before spitting out, “I didn’t know you were dating that Marcus Kane guy from AMS.”

Abby takes a small step back, surprised at the comment. “Well that's because my dating life is my business. But if it makes you feel better, tonight was the night I was going to introduce you two.”

“Oh,” he plainly says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh?” Abby raises her eyebrow, “Jackson am I misunderstanding something right now?”

“I just,” he shakes his head, “You’re supposed to tell me when you start dating again so I could screen check the guy. But you didn't do that. You didn't tell me, and to be honest it's really crappy if you pull the whole “my business” shit because you know how much I care about you Abby. And I was supposed to make sure the guy was  _ good _ . But he's not good, and now you’re going to have to find that out the hard way. But if you would have just  _ mentioned _ it to me, I could've have stopped it. I could've stopped him.” Jackson explains quickly, his hands waving wildly in the air, his breath so fast-paced Abby can hear it from her place in front of him.

She can't help the look of annoyance on her face as she tries to make sense of Jacksons word vomit. “I’m not,” Abby swallows, “I'm not following you.  _ Make sure the guy was good _ ? What's that supposed to mean? You’ve never even met Marcus-”

“I don't have to meet him to know him Abby!” Jackson practically shouts before Abby shoots him a glare of death and pushes them to a more secluded lounge. 

“Quiet your voice,” she scolds him.

“Nate, my partner, Nathan Miller, works at Ark Media Strategies, Abby! I.e. He works for Marcus, except I only ever knew him as Kane, period. So I know  _ a lot _ about Mr. CEO  _ I just want to save the world one small business at a time  _ Marcus Kane!”

Abby’s eyes squint at Jackson, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest, “You’re saying this like it's a bad thing. Clarke works there too, and she respects Marcus. I'm not sure what game you're playing.”

“I'm not playing  _ a game _ Abby,” Jackson rolls his eyes, “he’s playing a game. You. You’re the game!”

Abby can't help but chuckle gravely, before turning around waving Jackson off, “I don't have time for this. I get you’re being protective but this is outrageous-”

But before she can step out of the lounge Jackson has pulled her elbow to turn back to him. “Do you think it's just because he's handsome and ridiculously loaded that strange woman stared at you with envy when he received his award? Or you yours, Abby?” He asks, and Abby closes her mouth, unable to create a response. “Marcus Kane is notorious for not going home alone after this event. And the same for every other conference he's been -”

“Jackson, enough,” Abby croaks out hoarsely, her chest feeling heavy. Her mind starts to fill with doubts, with suspicion based on accusations with no evidence, but she couldn’t stop the skeptical thoughts from entering her head. And if he had been with other women before, which surely he must have, that was his business. So that’s exactly what she relayed to Jackson. “Marcus may have been with other women before me, but that was his life, and he's surely not doing that now.”

Marcus was a grown man, but the question that simply wouldn’t leave her be, as it began to dig roots into her lungs was …  _ how many? _

“How can you be so sure?” Jackson asks aggressively.

“Enough!” Abby runs shaking fingers through her hair, her body suddenly filled with adrenaline.

“Have you slept with him yet?” Jackson asks without shame.

Abby doesn’t miss a beat before growling, “Eric Jackson.” But her fallen face has shown him the answer to his negligent question.  _ No I haven’t _ . The air in the lounge suddenly feels very thick, and the churning in her stomach has not stopped.

“Find out for yourself when you have to sign that confidentiality thing.”

Abby’s mind feels hazy and she isn’t quite sure at this point what is coming out of Jackson’s mouth. Everything is mixing around in her mind like flashes. Splices of words Marcus spoke on her porch, his self-destruction at the airplane landing strip, his fingers on her skin in the booth at  _ Evergreene’s _ , but most of all his demeanor  _ tonight _ . Tonight felt like a massive advance in the direction of true stability, and permanence. Now, Abby doesn't know whether to believe Jackson, or think he's completely insane. Rumors, these were all rumors. 

Abby lifts her head strongly, “I don't think Marcus would appreciate his team spreading unwarranted gossip about him. And I'm surely not impressed by your need to impose these exaggerated lies on me.”

“But they’re not lies Abby,” Jackson says softly.

Abby looks at him and tries to detect any ounce of childlike admiration for grapevine chatter in his eyes, but Jackson truly believes what he's saying.

“I have to go,” Abby sniffs, “tell Nathan I say hello.”

And with that she turns and rushes to the bathroom to collect her thoughts

She doesn't know how she makes it to the crisp room, with white tile, white marble tops, pearl doors, and white roses in clear vases. She's alone and for that she's grateful. Abby stares at her reflection, as her fingers grip the edge of the countertop. She stared at the color of her skin, and the shape of her lips. She stared at the freckles on her cheeks, and the length of her hair. She stared at her eyes, as they began to fill with unwanted moisture. She placed her palms on her lower abdomen, and then moved them slowly up the valley between her breasts, to lay on the hollow of her throat. Her fingers ran over her exposed shoulders, and down to the top of her hands. She watched her chest inhale and exhale. She closed her eyes and thought of the tiny scar above her lip, she thought of the healed skin from pregnancy, she thought of the laugh lines around her mouth, and the mark on her hip. 

She breathed in, and breathed out _. _

She opened her eyes. 

She greeted herself warmly. 

Then.

_ How many? _

Abby pushed her body away from the counter and exited the lavatory, disbelieving of herself. Marcus was good. She knew this, God damn it. She was a decisive judge of character, and Abby refused to believe in the stories that challenged her verdict. She'd prove herself right. She'd have to.

As she made her way through the lobby, back to the ballroom, she spotted him talking on his phone at the bottom of the stairs they had met earlier that day. Their two awards stood together on a table near him, and her clutch was in his other hand. He caught her eye, and immediately mouthed,  _ sorry. _

Abby shook her head, and grabbed her clutch from his fingers, hearing him discuss with the other person on the line in a hard tone, “Well we can't make that deadline. I won't call my design team at eleven o’clock on a weekend night to come into the office.”

Abby watches as the vein in his neck becomes prominent, when he continues to argue, “Listen, it was approved in final client review. Now you’re asking for a complete rework.”

Marcus has turned his back to Abby, and when she reaches to calm him with her fingers on his bare hand, he quickly slips from her touch and moves to a more secluded corner of the lobby. Abby watches him run his fingers through his beard, and pace in the small space behind the stairwell. The knot of his brows hasn’t left, and Abby thinks he's finally done when he hangs up the phone and shoves it in his pocket. She can only make out the frame of his shoulders, as he faces opposite her. Abby begins to move forward, but quickly stops short when she sees him hastily slap his right hand against the hard wall, harshly whispering, “ _ FUCK!”  _ The sound is loud, and Abby wastes no time before approaching him from behind. Her left arm wraps around his torso, and her right hand caresses his shoulder then slides its way down his right arm to hold the fingers he's just numbed with force between her own. 

“Hey,” she whispers as she feels his body slump against her own, “not here okay. If we need to leave, let's go.”

He doesn't turn when he says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have done that.”

“What happened?” She asked.

With this he does turn, “It doesn't matter. But we do need to go.”

Abby raises her eyebrow at him, clearly not okay with his lack of clarity.

“I lost out on a business deal,” He runs a hand over his face. She can see the disappointment in himself pouring from every direction. “I owe them their assets before midnight tonight.”

“They’re allowed out of a contract just like that?” Abby asks inquisitively, having picked up on Marcus’s professional world.

“Either company can withdrawal efforts at any time. It's almost like an at-will employee. The thing is, hardly anyone ever bails on us.” Marcus sighs, “I should've seen it coming. I let others talk me into giving them a shot, but I knew their director was a cunt.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively go wide at one of the lewdest words she's ever heard come out of his mouth. At her frozen face of surprise, he chuckles, “Should I have said dick instead?”

Abby gulps, “I mean you can say whatever you want to say.”

“Asshole?”

“Marcus!” Abby giggles.

“Piece of shit?” 

“Stop!” She laughs harder.

“Mother fucker?” He questions again, a teasing glint in his eye. But her palm has come to cover his mouth, before he can say another profanity, that oddly makes her feel very warm. Marcus grins against her hand, as she looks side to side, embarrassed, and hoping no one heard them. 

Abby gives him one last stern glare before letting her fingers fall, brushing his beard on the way down. Marcus looks at Abby, smirking, before putting both arms around her waist and pulling her in closer. She bends her back slightly to look up at him, as their hips meet.

Marcus asks barely above a whisper, “Have you even said the word cunt in your life?”

Abby rolls her eyes, and tries to push herself away with minimal force, but he's trapped her in his arms. 

“ _ No _ ,” she admits, “It just sounds so …  _ intrusive. _ ”

“You mean dirty,” he taunts her, a smile teasing at his lips.

Abby giggles lowly, her hand coming around his neck, “No, I mean intrusive.”

“You give the word too much credit,” he tells her lowly.

“Oh really,” she murmurs. 

“Do you like saying fuck?” he asks suddenly, his fingers making patterns on the skin of her lower back and he leans down to kiss the side of her jaw.

Abby shivers, “Yes, it covers a lot of ground.”

“That’s because you provide the emotion,” Marcus inhales her perfume, “If we didn’t enunciate words the way we like, they wouldn't have the same effect.”

“Do tell,” Abby muses, barely able to think with his beard against the soft skin of her neck. 

“Cunt,” he states in her ear, and Abby’s fingers curl into the small space of his waistband, “has a bit more bite than fuck. Only if you want it to. So I imagine, if you like saying fuck, you might enjoy cunt a little bit more.”

Abby can no longer speak, as he practically holds her body up against his. Flashes of Jacksons conversation re-appear in her mind, as they walk eagerly out of the hotel, and towards his office building. This man was driving her insane, and he did it with such ease. As they walked down a few blocks, hand in hand, she decided Marcus deserved the benefit of the doubt. 

* * *

_ EARLIER THAT NIGHT _

The office has been empty for an hour and a half by the time Clarke is able shut down her computer. The soft glow of the lamps surrounding the small lobby of directors offices are the only signs of warmth. Today had been tough. People were being particularly vile, and Clarke had reached the point of believing  Mercury was in retrograde. 

Even if she found it cute that Marcus was excited about taking her mom to the gala tonight, it didn’t excuse the horrid amount of people calling to congratulate him once the news article went live a few hours prior to the event.  _ All _ people Clarke had to email reply courtesy thank you messages to, and she simply gave up on the phone, letting it reach the maximum capacity of voicemails. But that red blinking light annoyed her to death, as she shoved her planner into her tote along with her phone charger. 

It was already six-thirty, on a Friday, and she felt irresponsible for not leaving space just in case important calls needed to be left over the weekend. So she walked over to the kitchen, grabbed one of Echo’s k-cups, and brewed a coffee. Within a few minutes, she set her hot mug down on her desk, kicked her feet up, leaned back, and grabbed a nearby legal pad, before she began playing  _ all  _ the voicemails.

_ KAAANNNNEEE _ , a male voice booms loudly,  _ heard about your award bro! We gotta celebrate with the rest of the brothers! Remember man, ALPHA PH- _

Clarke reaches over and immediately deletes the message, not standing anymore of that mans voice.

_ Hello this is Katherine Jones calling on behalf of the Polis Chamber of Commerce. We wanted to extend our congratulations to Marcus Kane, and thank him for creating a bar of excellence for entrepreneurs in Polis. Thank you, and have a wonderful evening.  _

Clarke scribbles down the woman's name and office, noting to send a thank you card. She goes through much more, deleting, noting some, and deleting more. The clock hits seven and she’s grateful to see only the number 1 blinking in red at her. She takes a sip of her now cold coffee, and breathes in deeply before pressing the button to play the last message. 

A women’s soft sweet voice drips from the other line. 

_ Oh! Hello there, usually I don’t get through. _

The voice is gentle, and Clarke is intrigued immediately by the woman’s hesitancy.

_ I get alerts on Polis news on my iPad. I saw your face Marcus, and worried, but am very happy to see it’s for an award. You look so grown son. I can’t remember the last time I saw you … or spoke to you.  _

Clarke’s mind screams,  _ SON??? _ She sits upright, holding her pen tight. 

_ But nevermind those tiny antics. I’m so proud. I’ve always been so proud. I love you, and miss you, Marcus.  _

Clarke’s chest tightens, as she hears the woman’s voice crack over the phone. 

_ I’m not in Elysium Homes any more Marcus, so my phone number is no longer the one that ends with 2149. I was moved to Eden Care and now my phone is 555-0100. I love you son. Take care, and God bless.  _

The dial tone meets Clarke’s ear, as she sits frozen, putting the pieces together. She reaches over and replays the voicemail. This time around jotting down both numbers, and residencies. She stared down at the numbers until she felt her eyes blur. His mother sounded grateful and broken, happy to speak and remorseful to go. _How long had it been since they’d spoken?_ Clarke thought, _surely he’d make time for his mother?_ _Why have I never heard him speak of his mom?_ Then the sparks of her thoughts burst into flames in front of her, as she instinctively clawed open her desk drawer and pulled out an old post it with the number _555-2149_ written in Marcus’s hand. His voice echoes through her head.

_ And by no means do you ever answer any phone calls from this number. _

Clarke gulps as she makes a decision to stuff his mother's information in her tote and delete the message.

* * *

The clock strikes eleven when the elevator opens for Marcus and Abby. He enters the code, the glass doors unlock, and they walk past the familiar panel that reads  _ Ark Media Strategies. _ Abby listens for the sound of anyone but themselves and hears nothing. The office looks crisp even in the dark and smells of lemon scented cleaner. The cool aircon makes her shiver, and Marcus unbuttons his suit jacket, handing it over to her without a second thought.

He leads them to his office, a place of which Abby has never been. In fact, she hadn’t been passed the front desk. So she lags a little behind him, taking in all the decor and design. The lamps of the small lobby have been left on, leaving them in a dull yellow glow. 

“Is this Clarke’s desk?” she asks, recognizing the girls' scribbles on post its, and her cream cashmere cardigan draping over the rolling chair.

“Yes,” Marcus answers her with a small smile. 

“She looks so …  _ official _ ,” Abby comments with a laugh. 

“She is  _ official _ ,” Marcus chuckles, continuing his way to his large corner office. 

Abby follows glacially, her feet gliding on the smooth floor, and her hands holding his jacket over her shoulders. She's not prepared for the cities blinking lights through the entire glass wall. He doesn't move to turn on the blinding white lights above them. Instead Marcus walks over to the lamp on his desk and taps the metal top twice before it showers them in an orange haze. She doesn't pay attention as he sits at his desk and turns on his monitor, connecting his laptop. She runs her hands over the hard black conference table from end to end, then she roams over to his shelves, looking fondly at the pictures of Octavia and Bellamy. Abby hears him type and click away, focused, as she tried to forget her doubts. 

Her fingers grace the spine of a book, and his jacket begins to fall off one shoulder before she pulls it back up.

“I won't be a minute,” he murmurs opening a drawer.

Abby nods and turns to face him, noticing the thin black frames on the tip of his nose. His fingers haven't left the small keyboard, and he chews the inside of his cheek.

She waltzes back to the end of his conference table, and sits on the edge, laying her clutch beside her. Abby watches him scoot his lenses up, before mumbling something to himself and continue working. She believes she could be topless in front of him and he wouldn't so much as notice. Not while he was this zoned into his task at hand.

She looks out the window pane to her left. Counting off every window with a light on. 

Marcus hits send on his dry email to the company, all assets attached and shuts his computer down. He looks up to find Abby sucking on her bottom lip. Her hair has fallen into messy waves and his jacket looks far too big on her small frame. Marcus can't help but think of how long the walk back to the hotel is, even if it really only was seven minutes, that was light years. He takes off his glasses and tosses them on the desk, as he makes his way to her. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, coming to stand in front of her. He reaches inside his coat to hold her waist between his palms. 

Abby slowly turns to him, “You took off your glasses,” she reaches out to move the fallen hair away from his face, “they were sexy.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, “I could go put them on again?” then he begins turning to leave, but Abby clutches his forearms, holding him in place.

“Too far,” she shakes her head, pulling him slowly to her. 

“You like me here?” He asks leaning down to brush their noses.

“Yeah, right here,” Abby answers as she tilts her mouth up to meet his. Their lips move softly against each other, and Abby feels her lungs ache for air. But she doesn't want air, she wants him. She moans at the entrance of his tongue, battling her own. Her arms move up to cup the back of his neck, and the jacket falls off her shoulders. Abby is met instantly with a chill, but Marcus’s body pushes forward, one leg in between her thighs, and the other on the outside of her right knee. 

Marcus can feel Abby's warm skin against his hands, as he roams them over her lower back. She’s tugging at his hair, and he can feel their kisses getting sloppy. He knows very well they have a suite waiting for them, but he can't bring himself to pull away. 

Marcus can hardly believe he's made it this long without having her, or vice versa. He’s kissed her neck times previous, he’s sucked lightly at her pulse point before relieving it with his tongue, he’s lifted her dress to her mid-thigh. He’s kissed her face numb. She's hooked her ankle around his hip, she's fingered his waistband, she's pulled and sucked his bottom lip. She's felt his chest beneath her palms. They've gone this far before, but he's never pushed her further. 

But now she begins loosening his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt, his earlobe between her silky lips, as her experienced hands fail to shake even a bit. Marcus tugs his tie off and watches her smoothly unbutton each button on his dress shirt until her fingers slide the tight garment off his arms, to coarsely on the floor. Abby stares at him unapologetically from under her hooded lids, before pulling his white shirt out from its tucked in place.

The dim lighting of the room gives him the confidence to lift his arms above his head, as she tugs the fabric up and off him, and it joins the other shirt in a pile on the ground. Marcus has never felt such heat on his skin, as he does when Abby’s eyes fall to look at his bare chest. Her fingers follow where her gaze moves, and he can’t help but close his eyes, as they move over his ribs, and down to his belly button. His physicality shows that of a young man who took care of his body, but can’t stop the changes of life, of time. 

Abby imprints the vision of her hands on his tan skin in her mind forever. She imprints, the way his lungs begin to shake when she leans forward to kiss above his heart. She hears him breathe in and out quickly, and with every kiss on his chest and stomach his shoulders tense. Abby looks up at him, to find his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. 

Her fingers make it to his face before she can find the words to speak, “Marcus, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t open his eyes when he smiles sadly, “Nothing … I’m just,” his face falls and Abby can see him fighting with his mind. They’ve been through this quite a few times. His instinct begs him to keep it all from anyone, from her, but he fights to say it all aloud. Even if it takes a few tries. 

“Your touch … feels … I’ve never felt … someone do that,” he gruffs and before she can speak he turns in embarrassment away from her. His hands fly up to cup the back of his head, the skin of his shoulders bunching around his neck, and his back muscles tightening. 

Abby immediately follows and brings him back against her chest. Her lips meeting his spine, as her hands clutch his waist. She sees his arms fall loosely at his sides, and he turns in her arms. 

“Let me do it some more,” Abby whispers, as he brings his head down to meet her forehead. Her fingers find two dips on either side of his spine, before his butt bone, and she thinks those dimples may just be her favorite from here on out. 

“We do have a room waiting for us at the hotel you know?” Marcus answers her softly. 

Abby’s mind freezes momentarily, the word hotel sending a shiver down her back. Her insensitive curiosity of rumors infiltrating her thoughts once again. She hates herself for thinking,  _ how many women? How often? Why? Who?  _ She wants to shut herself up. She wants to forget her doubts, and why can’t she after his painful display of lack of true human touch? No, she doesn’t want to go to a hotel. She won’t be able to stop herself from asking it all. It goes against her nature to not get down to the bottom of it.  _ They’re just rumors.  _

“No,” she shakes her head swallowing, “here,” she raises on her tiptoes to kiss him, and her actions quiet her brain for only a second. She pulls back enough to say, “I need you here.”

She’ll never forget the way his guard physically drops at her words, and his eyes narrow in on her gaze, before dropping down to her lips. Suddenly his arms have lifted her altogether, and Marcus is unmerciful as he pushes her body to lay beneath him on the conference table. With every kiss, Abby’s head fogs. But it doesn’t stop her from realizing that they’d yet to unlock this level of intensity. His lips have not left her skin, as his hands hastily hike her dress up as much as he can. The elasticity of the material allows it to bunch at her hips, and Marcus wastes no time cupping the back of her legs before dragging her down the smooth surface to grip his waist between her thighs. Abby’s back arches as he begins to lay languid open-mouthed kisses on her jaw, and down her neck, then on her shoulders. 

“You know,” he murmurs against her throat, and Abby can barely utter a response, as he nips at her collarbone with his teeth. His hands massage the muscles above her knees, and his lips graze the soft surface of her skin. She can feel his hot chest vibrating against hers as he continues talking, “Watching you today made me affirm one thing.” He dips his head to kiss the valley between her breasts, “I will spend all the time you allow me, giving you what you deserve Abby.” 

Abby lets out a small yelp as his tongue swipes over the swell of her breasts, tasting her. Her hands have no destination as they roam over the blades of his shoulder, and pull him closer to her. Marcus moves to suck softly at a spot behind her ear and she feels his fingers still at the back of her zipper. A silent question that he won’t continue without her consent. She nods furiously, and he begins to slide it down not nearly enough as she would like. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers as he lifts his head to look down at her, and Abby feels her chest tighten, the reality of the situation hitting her softly. To say she was hesitant to have sex again would be lying, but to say she was one hundred percent ready to accept that Jake would no longer be the last person she’d been with intimately would also be lying. But Marcus kisses her again and again until her lips are numb, and his body above her becomes a comfort she doesn’t wish to lose. 

He feels good. He feels right. And Abby loves the warmth of him as he slides down to kneel in front of her. She can feel his feather-light touch on her shins, as he begins kissing his way up her ankle. She’d never realized how sensitive these parts of her body were, and she shivers when he pays special attention to the soft skin on the inside of her knees with his lips. Abby’s hands go down to intertwine themselves in his hair, as she feels him caress her thighs with butterfly kisses. The mixture of soft mouth and rough beard have made Abby pant as she tries in vain not to scoot her body up, as the overwhelming feeling he’s causing has reached every nerve in her body. Marcus grips her hips, holding her in place as his lips and tongue go dangerously close to the area she wants him the most, but then he suddenly lifts himself back up to hover over her. And Abby’s back falls down to lay flat with a long breath, as she hadn’t noticed how arched she had just been. 

He finds her mouth again, as his fingers slowly glide up her leg, brushing the soft silk of her underwear before stilling his movements. Their lips part, and before Marcus can speak, Abby answers him lowly, “it’s okay.” She feels him nod against her, and then his fingers began placing a soft pressure on her above her nude colored panties. Abby can’t help the whimper that escapes her throat from his touch. She can hear small girlish moans in the air, failing to realize they were her. It’d been so long since she’d heard herself like  _ this _ , and as Marcus’s strokes increased and he sucked on her bottom lip, Abby let go more and more. 

She can hardly wrap her mind around the fact that she hadn’t touched him nearly as much as he has her. But as she slips her hand between them to find his hard length, he grabs her hands and pins them back above her head. 

“Let me do this for you,” he murmurs as his teeth find the thin strap of her dress, and he drags it down her shoulder. Abby can feel the prominent bulge in his pants against her center, and a groan follows as he rubs against her. 

“It’s not fair,” she comments under her breath. 

“Let me make you feel good Abby,” he looks down at her smiling, and Abby can’t avoid the look of adoration on his face. She can’t unsee the walls around his heart crumbling before her. She can’t unsee the absolute selflessness in the dark hues of his eyes. That’s when she realized she couldn’t go through with this. Not like she wanted to. So, Abby decided to be completely honest with herself, and her ability to do the same as he had just done. 

“I heard something ridiculous today,” she whispered, as his hands curl around her own. 

Marcus raises his eyebrow, not expecting the shift in conversation, “What’d you hear?” He asks, his fingers making circles in her palms, his elbows digging into the table around her head. Abby’s eyes wander around, as she tries to think of how to possibly say any of what wouldn’t let her mind be. 

“Something about you,” she begins, and there’s absolutely no way she can miss the way his entire body stiffens above her. “I mean I said it was ridiculous remember,” Abby consoles him, suddenly feeling very uneasy. 

“What about me?” Marcus asks lowly, his eyes boring into hers, looking for the answer to his question before she can say more. His demeanor portrays that  _ whatever _ has been said about him, must be horrid enough to cause this austere reaction. It’s then that something in Abby snaps.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think it is?” she asks him, pulling her hands out from under his hold, and pushing him to stand as she sits up. The city lights illuminate the parts of her skin still shiny from his tongue and lips. Her dress strap still hangs off her shoulder. Her hair perfectly tousled in front of him, and her dress still crumpled at her hips, but the heat between them was cooling at a frightening rate. 

Marcus grumbles irritated, “Will you just say it?” 

“No, tell me what you think I was told,” Abby bites back. 

Marcus leans down to pick up his white t-shirt, the uncomfortable pressure in his pants agitating him more, “I figure it must allude to the women I’ve spent nights with in the past,” he quickly pulls the shirt over his head. 

Abby’s breath stops, unprepared for him to pinpoint exactly what Jackson had told her. 

“Oh don’t look so surprised Abby,” Marcus says curtly, “I know what people gossip about.” 

The tension in the room rises, and Abby reaches to pull up her fallen strap. Then in the silence she is able to gravely ask. 

“Is it true?”

Without a missed beat he replies, “Why don’t you tell me? It looks like you’ve already decided for yourself.”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I fought Jackson.”

And his face falls. 

“Well …” he whispers, “that’s nice.”

Abby can feel her heart breaking, “So it is true?” 

“I told you,” he reaches down to hold his dress shirt in his hands, “I’m not who I was anymore.”

Then.

“How many?” 

Marcus can’t help but chuckle a mirthless, “Wow.”

Abby’s body is shaking and yet she finds the courage to stand, as he pulls his arms through the linen of his dress shirt, “I never thought I’d hear that coming from your mouth.”

“Well we don’t know, what we don’t know, until we do,” Abby whispers. 

Marcus huffs at this with a sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips, “What if I asked you that? How would you feel?”

“I surely wouldn’t be as defensive as you are now.”

“Well sorry to disappoint,” Marcus bites, “But I would have thought the woman I was dating wouldn’t chat in the ladies room about the number of women I’ve slept with.”

“I would have thought that if it was something the man I was dating thought I should be aware of, before being pulled aside by my assistant at a party of which a fourth of the woman were glaring at me due to the fact that they’d slept with my partner, that he would’ve told me!” Abby exasperates.

“Sorry if I didn’t want to disclose the embarrassing number of one night stands I’ve endured in Polis! It’s not exactly a subject anybody thinks wise to bring up on dates.”

They stand a foot away from each other. Abby’s chest inhaling rapidly as the vein in Marcus’s neck twitches. Neither makes a move to retreat or lessen their guard. However, Abby’s fingers are crawling with the feeling of pins and the queasiness in her stomach only continues building. Marcus feels heat in his fists, and he wishes nothing more than to punch a hole in the glass of the large window, if only it will let fresh air into the tense room. 

“You let me walk  _ ignorantly _ into a room full of women you’ve seen naked,” Abby says high pitched and then her voice cracks, “who’ve seen you,  _ all of you _ .”

The more Abby thought about it, the more it angered her, in a way she didn’t expect. At first, it had been because he hadn’t told her at all. Then it had been walking around by his side clueless. But now, the image of him being inside several others has awakened a strong possessiveness inside her. That she hasn’t even seen him like that yet, but all these other women had. 

“I told you Abby!” Marcus yelled, “That I’m  _ not the same _ ! I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the details.”

Abby can’t help the tears streaming down her face as she wipes away at them furiously. Jackson’s allegations replaying in her head. Her mind fumbles over his words, but something continues to replay in her head. One line she hadn’t focused on too much at the time, now a broken record in her head.

_ Find out for yourself when you have to sign that confidentiality thing. _

“S-show me,” Abby’s voice stutters, “show me the confidentiality thing.” 

Marcus’s face turns white. There’s no room for him to lie. There’s no way for him to betray his initial reaction.

“No,” he tells her defiantly. 

“Marcus-”

“No.”

“Show me God damn it!” Abby’s hands push against his chest, but he doesn’t stumble backward. 

He stands looking down his nose at her, no sign of retreat in her eyes. Her lips are trembling, and he can see one tiny spot on the curve of her left breast turning purple from his earlier antics. How that seemed so long ago. Marcus turns slowly on his heels, as he heads for a black filing cabinet behind his desk. Abby follows him, staying a few steps behind. She watches as he opens the third drawer from the top, and pulls out one white sheet, and lays it down on his desk before crossing one arm over his chest, and covering his mouth with the other hand. He steps back, and motions for Abby to take a look at the document. 

Her eyes roam wildly over the paper, as she tries to intake the information as quickly as possible. She’s gathered that it’s essentially a contract stating that in the case of sexual relations, the other person is not allowed to disclose any details of the night to anyone, or they could be sued. It goes into further detail than that with statements such as:  _ Anything said during the period between foreplay and after intercourse may not be recorded, repeated, or written.  _

She repeats this line to him, as his eyes fail to hold her stare, before saying, “What do you do? Yell out intellectual property when you come?!?” and Marcus flinches at her tone. 

In what scenario would someone have to sign an agreement of silence before partaking in a one-night stand? Abby can’t wrap her mind around it. Flashes of the grimaces from different women rumble in her mind. And before he can stop her Abby darts to the filing cabinet and hastily pulls open the third drawer. She reaches in unknowingly and grabs a fist full of paper. Marcus knows better than to interrupt or try to stop her, as she wildly looks through the various contracts. He’d given her a blank one to look at. But she’s pulled at least fifteen with each signed in black ink at the bottom.

Then her eyes dart to his, “Were you going to make me sign one of these? If we were to have fucked on that conference table tonight, would you have brought this out after?”

Marcus’s head flashed up, “No Abby, of course not.”

“You just weren’t ever going to mention it?” 

Marcus stays silent. 

They watch each other as Abby awaits a response. But he says nothing. Abby nods before covering her mouth, failing to catch the dry sob that escapes. Marcus feels out of body, as he stands frozen, while Abby turns quickly, grabbing her clutch from the table, and practically running out of his office. He hears her push through the front doors of the lobby, and looks down at the contracts on his desk. 

He can’t stop himself as he wipes all the papers off his desk with a loud grunt, watching as they fly through the air, wildly landing around him. His throat was tight, and he felt like his chest was going to explode. He couldn’t lose Abby. For the love God, he couldn’t lose her. Watching her walk out, was perhaps one of the worst events he’d ever endured in his whole life. He thought himself a fucking idiot for letting her leave. But there was nothing he could say at the moment that would make her forgive him instantly. He had fucked up. Plain and simple. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t said the truth. For fear of the very thing that had just happened. But now, he stood alone and angry. A feeling before Abby he’d become extremely familiar with.

* * *

It's half past one in the morning when Marcus bursts through his garage door and into the kitchen. He should be more surprised to find his daughter eating out of a large pizza box, staring down at her phone on the marble countertop. A half liter of Coca-Cola open, with no glass in sight. 

“Hello,” Octavia mumbles mouth full as she pulls away a bite of pizza, the cheese stretching at arms length and then finally breaking. 

“What are you doing up?” Marcus exhales as he hangs his keys, and tosses the belongings of his pockets onto the nearby table. 

“It's a weekend?” Octavia raises her eyebrow at him, and then reaches for the bottle of soda taking a large gulp.

“How did you get pizza?” he interrogates her while unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Delivery,” she deadpans, “have you gone daft since the dinner? I thought they were giving you an award for being the opposite.”

“Octavia it’s late you should be in bed,” he presses her as he slips off his dress shirt and tosses it over one of the booths.

“I’ve literally stayed up later on a Friday,” Octavia scoffs closing the pizza box.

“Octavia please just go to your room and watch whatever you're watching on that phone on the large television I provide for you in your bedroom!” Marcus states loudly as his fingers scratch at his beard in irritation, “You can take your pizza if you wish.”

He doesn't miss the scrunch of Octavia's face as she naturally responds fiercely, “Geez what happened to you?”

Marcus runs a hand over his face, leaving her with his profile, “I just want to pour myself a large glass of whiskey, and then another, without my daughter witnessing her father drown the horrible night he's just had. Okay?” 

Octavia's mouth shuts and her eyes widen, “Okay.” She reaches for the half liter of Coke and makes her way quietly down the hall to her room, phone in hand.

Marcus knows what he's just done is something he’ll have to make amends or explain for later, but at the moment he decides he’ll deal with that when it comes. Without more waiting he reaches up in the cupboard where he holds his liquor and pulls out the bottle of the same kind of whiskey he and Abby had at the concert. He grabs a sleek crystal glass and pours himself enough to down immediately, and then pours another before closing the bottle and stashing it back away.

Before he’d exited his car, he'd grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the middle compartment and stuffed them in his pants. Now he opened the miscellaneous drawer of their kitchen, snagged the small black lighter, and walked out to his backyard. The sliding glass doors smoothly opened for him, as he set his drink on the balcony overlooking his pool, on the side of a hill, with a view of the city life of Polis miles away. 

He smoked three cigarettes and finished his drink, thinking nothing but self-deprecating thoughts before walking back inside his cool home. Marcus walked in the opposite direction of Octavia's room, down to his own master suite. He stripped his body of all clothing reeking of whiskey, and cigarettes, and the tease of sex.

_ What the hell am I going to do? _ He thought over and over again as he let the hot water scorch his body. Reluctantly, he exited the shower and changed into his softest t-shirt and favorite pajama bottoms. Then he took a look at his perfectly made bed, too big for one person, and tossed his phone on it before heading out of his room.

Octavia heard two soft knocks on her door, before a sleepy looking Marcus opened it slowly making his way inside. He didn't catch the empty soda bottle on her nightstand as he walked to the empty side of the bed. Octavia said nothing as he scooted her laptop and headphones over to her side before climbing in underneath her covers. She wordlessly grabbed her belongings and laid them gently on the floor. Marcus turned on his side, sighing before pulling her covers up and around his shoulders. She wasn't the tiniest bit sleepy, but Octavia reached over to her remote and turned off her television. Leaving the both of them in the pitch black darkness of her room. She leaned over and kissed the back of his head before saying, “Goodnight Dad.”

And as she tucked herself in, turning on her side, just as he, he murmured, “G’night Octavia, love you.”

* * *

The next morning, Marcus grunts as bright sun rays shine through Octavia’s white curtains. His first thought is the vision of Abby walking away last night, wiping at the tears on her face furiously. The previous evening comes back in flashes, the good, and the bad, until he digs his way under Octavia’s fluffy teal comforter. He turns his body to face her, but instead is met with the beat up teddy bear, only one button as its eye staring at him. Marcus smiles softly at his daughter's kept possession from childhood. The same one she showed up on his doorstep with. And he thinks if he’s made it this far, he won’t let life beat him now. 

But it was just so easy to lay in bed, rather than get up and even do mundane things, like eat. So Marcus burrowed further into her sheets, just in time for Octavia’s door to swing open, letting in the smell of … pancakes?

She walked over to her bay windows and unleashed the full force of the sun on him, and his response was to groan and pull the covers over his head. 

“It’s almost noon,” Octavia told him, as she pulled her blanket until she successfully tugged it off his body, leaving him cold and irritated on her bed. “I made pancakes and toast,” she huffed, staring down at his still form, hiding his face with her pillow. “I even shaped the pancakes like Mickey Mouse,” she tried to persuade him in a cheery voice. But Marcus only turned on his side. Octavia rolled her eyes and grunted as she tried to pull his heavy body off her bed by his ankles. He barely moved an inch, then Octavia remembered something she’d learned as a little girl. “I’m going to tickle your feet if you don’t get out of my bed right now!” she warned him. 

Octavia couldn’t help her triumphed smile as he lifted his knees up to his chest quickly and grumbled, “Okay, okay, I’ll get up!”

Only minutes later Marcus sat grumpily on a stool at the bar of his kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of Octavia’s Spotify shuffle on the nearest speaker. However, when she placed a plate with two Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes (with one ear bigger than the other and not shaped like perfect circles), buttered toast, and chocolate milk in front of him Marcus found that he no longer could feign unhappiness. Not while his daughter stood on the other side of the counter, eating the food she made and not asking questions about his behavior. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her before chopping one of poor Mickey’s ears off to eat. 

“Welcome,” she grinned back, taking a sip of her chocolate milk. 

They ate in comfortable silence until he got up to rinse their dishes and put both plates in the dishwasher to run later. Marcus told her to get dressed and that he’d take her to the local shopping plaza with her favorite store that made handmade custom thread bracelets in store. Without question, Octavia agreed and four hours later they sat in front of a gelato shop, Octavia sporting two new ankle bracelets, that she couldn’t stop staring at. One had a silver charm of the letter “O” and the other had a horseshoe charm. 

“Okay,” Octavia said looking up at him, and stuffing a spoonful of coconut flavored gelato in her mouth, “I’ve waited enough time to ask, what happened?” 

“Octavia,” Marcus sighed, pushing his espresso flavored gelato around the cup.

“If you don’t tell me I’ll text Clarke and ask her what Abby said,” Octavia threatens him softly, scooping another bit of the cold treat into her mouth. 

“And why do you think it deals with Abby?” Marcus raises her eyebrow at her. 

“Because the last time this happened you’d only met her. But now whether you realize it or not she’s your girlfriend,” Marcus’s eyes widen at this, “and you are much worse than the lost puppy looking at his phone all the time.” Octavia sets down her gelato and leans back crossing her arms before stating, “You haven't even  _ looked _ at your phone all day, because you know she won’t have texted or called. And that means you had your first fight.”

Marcus can’t help but chuckle, “I’m sorry do you have plans to join the FBI when you’re older?”

“Deductive reasoning dad,” she shook her head. 

Marcus battles with his own thumbs on the table before nodding solemnly. “Yes,” he whispers, “Abby is more than angry at me. She’s furious. I can deal with the anger, but she’s also …  _ hurt _ . And when someone tells you that you hurt them, you don’t get to decide that you didn’t.”

Octavia listens silently before murmuring, “So what’s the plan?”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asks. 

“Well you’re not just going to let her stay feeling that way, and you’re definitely not going to let her escape from our lives so what’s the plan? A love letter? A radio on your shoulders in front of her house? Throwing rocks at her window? What?” Octavia deadpans him, clearly annoyed that he has no plan of action yet. 

At his complete loss of words, it’s then that Marcus realizes he has nothing to say because he’s never had to try and win someone’s forgiveness. Especially not someone he cared about as much as Abby. And God he cared about Abigail Griffin more than he cared about himself, so he started brainstorming aloud with Octavia what he was going to do next. 

* * *

It’d been two days since she’d spoken a word to Marcus but each passing minute felt like time was tripling the seconds for the pure enjoyment of Abby’s state of mind. Or lack thereof. She was detached from the world around her, from herself, and anyone within a mile distance of her could notice. He appeared in her dreams, in her lazy midday naps. His face and hands on her skin. His lips. She missed him. But her heart felt heavy, and she’d yet to stop replaying their last conversation in her head all weekend. Had she overreacted? Or reacted just enough? Was it right for him to believe that his past was exactly that … the past? And what now God damn it? 

As she pulled into the hospital for her odd shift beginning at eleven that morning, she saw that the back parking lot was being turned into something else. Abby quickly noted that she must have overlooked some event for the children. So, she thought nothing of it as she made her way to the communal rooms, grabbing a pair of scrubs from her locker. Today she felt like helping as many patients and teaching as many residents as the day would allow her, if only it would not let her think about him. So she dressed in the locker room, as she didn’t believe in having a separate place to change between her and everyone else, and then made her way to her office to drop off her purse and paperwork.  

She opened the door to find it filled to the brim with bouquets of assorted flowers in clear glass vases, and a black box smack in the middle of her desk. Abby couldn’t help as her purse dropped from her hand, and then clutched at the spot on her chest right above her heart. She walked slowly over to the box, setting down her folders, and then grabbed the white piece of parchment with her name written in black ink on top. She opened the box to find it filled with chocolate croissants. Her favorite. 

Her eyes fell to his thin handwriting on the paper between her fingers. 

 

_ Dear Abby, _

_ I can not write all the words that I wish to say to your face. You deserve more than a lackluster atonement on a note. However, this is where I begin my apology. By noon all the food trucks will have arrived, along with the storyteller, face painter, and balloon maker. I hope all the children and their families are able to enjoy. (As well as you.) _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Marcus _

 

Abby feels tears sting her eyes, as she reads and re-reads his letter until she knows it by memory. 

“We forgive him yet?” a voice startles her from behind, and Abby turns to find Juliet leaning against the doorway. The various bouquets and chocolate croissants hardly surprising her or gaining an ounce of gratitude. A typical reaction from the best friend of a lady whose lover has just been a complete ass.

“No,” Abby states gently as she puts down the letter, “but it’s a start.”

Juliet sticks out her chin, “Well I think you’ll have no choice after you see what he’s done to the back parking lot. The board all but praised him for his generosity.”

Abby snorts, “Of course they did.”

“C’mon I think the nurses are already taking some of the children down there,” Juliet nods her head in the direction of the hallway, “plus I hear everything is  _ free _ . Free Abby.  _ Por gratis _ .”

“I’ll be right down,” Abby comments under her breath, but Juliet doesn’t move an inch out the door, “I promise,” Abby puts up her hands, “just give me a few seconds and then I’ll head down there.”

Juliet reluctantly walks out, but Abby true to her word, takes a mere seven seconds to collect herself, before making her way down the hall. She stops at Reese’s room to make sure the young girl doesn’t miss out on the fun. 

Abby finds her watching cartoons as usual, but she is also holding a white letter in her hand, and on her nightstand there is one bouquet of white lilies in a polka-dotted vase. At the sight of Abby, Reese hops off the bed and practically topples her over in a tight hug.

“You have to forgive him Doctor Abby,” she murmurs into Abby’s abdomen, “you have to.”

Abby brushes the girls waves with her fingers, “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Or I’ll have to send my dad to beat him up,” Reese grumbles into her stomach. 

Abby nods, unable to hide the small chuckle that escapes her lips before saying, “C’mon let’s go check out all the fun things happening outside, put on your shoes.”

An hour later she’s standing in the middle of a circle of food trucks, with a dozen picnic tables, and children blowing bubbles in the air, and fighting with balloon swords, and eating treats with painted flowers on their faces. The sun is shining, but a nice breeze makes the heat a lovely warm. She can’t escape the glowing faces of the families, enjoying the unexpected piece of joy handed to them, if even for a couple of hours. In this moment, she forgives him a little more. Then suddenly Reese runs up to her and lays a semi crumpled letter in her lap, before running back to play with the other children her age

Abby sees the same handwriting from the morning. Her hands steadily flip the paper over to read:

 

_ I’ve tasked Reese with giving you this by the time the party is in full swing. If you’re reading this, I’m glad she has. I hope you look around and everyone is in a state of bliss -- unfearful or unthinking of the future. Hopeful even.  _

_ Abby, only in my nightmares would I ever have thought of hurting you the way I did. It was unacceptable, and I am so deeply sorry. I know the flowers, croissants, and fair alone will not excuse withholding my past. Nor will it make it easy for you to forgive me. But I hope it shows that I won’t sit back and wait for fate to take its course. I can’t lose you. _

_ Marcus _

 

She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, as a mix of butterflies and knots make home in her stomach. Then before she can ask herself why, she’s pushed herself up from her seat and began running to her office to grab her car keys. The faces she passes are but blurs in her mind, and all coherent thought has left her completely as she exits the hospital grounds and speeds her way to Marcus’s office building. The lunch rush hour has given Abby slight road rage, but finally she’s able to hastily park in the parking garage and make her way to the entrance of the skyscraper. Her ponytail flails wildly behind her, as she squeezes through people until she stands cramped in the elevator. The higher they rise the more the crowd lessens, until she is alone, fighting her nerves as the elevator opens before her. 

Abby walks out with pins and needles running through her veins, and makes her way to the clear glass doors of his company. She opens them swiftly, and bypasses Jasper at the reception desk. Everything looks different with the artificial white lights on, so Abby makes a turn to the right instead of left to his office. But it doesn’t matter, because she sees him in the open working space, crowded with others around a studio table with a large lamp hanging from the ceiling to give more light on the samples they’re analyzing. Curious heads lift at the women strutting in purposefully, dressed in blue scrubs, and white tennis shoes. 

“Marcus Kane,” she speaks up loudly and his head immediately turns to find the source of the voice he’s come to adore, “only you would plan a fair for children in the matter of two days.  _ You idiot _ .” Her voice cracks, and Abby feels like her heart is going to jump out of her chest. 

Everyone stares at the mystery lady with wide eyes, and back at Marcus, both curious and frightful for the event that’s about to play out in front of them. Marcus slowly backs away from the table, his face frozen at the sight of her before him, “Abby, I’m so sor-”

But she’s closed the space between them in four long strides, and pulled his face down to hers, and lifted herself as much as she can on her tiptoes. Their lips meet with a longing for each other, and Abby has missed the feeling of his beard under her palms and against her mouth. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, as she links her hands behind his neck, and he picks her up, spinning her around. She’s missed his stupid cologne, and taste of his lips.

A rupture of applause and woos has been set loose in the working space. And only when Marcus sets Abby down, do they both flush red with embarrassment. 

“Okay everyone back to work,” Marcus scolds his team half-heartedly before taking Abby’s hand in his and leading her to his office. They run into Clarke in the hallway, who is late to the party, but at the sight of them her shoulders fall and she rolls her eyes, “Secrets out I guess,” Clarke sighs shaking her head and turning to sit back in her desk. 

“Your mother’s fault,” Marcus comments, still pulling Abby towards his office, leaving her barely enough time to mutter a “sorry honey,” before shutting his door behind them. 

At the sound of the doors click, he rushes to hold Abby in his arms, murmuring in her ear, “How are you here? Why? I wasn’t done making it up to you, or even trying to explain-”

Abby cuts him off, “Marcus people don’t just rent food trucks for the day, especially not for a children’s hospital, trust me, you’ve done enough.”

She pulls his face from the crook of her neck, to look down at her. Their noses touch as he says, “You don’t have to forgive me now. I fucked up. I know I did Abby. But you have to know, you must know that since you, I’ve not been or thought of no one else. Just you Abby. Only you.”

Abby nods, the emotions in her chest bubbling, “I believe you, Marcus.”

“Abby,” she hears him whisper as he leans down touching their foreheads, “I should have told you, and I didn’t. This fear, or embarrassment, I have of my past is what stopped me. My past is a monster. I was a monster. And I was never satisfied romantically, because I never let anyone in, and I used people. I used people cause I was unbelieving I could ever love and be loved in return. True love. But then you showed up, and that all changed. You changed me, and I -” his voice pauses as he composes himself, “I love you, Abby.”

Abby’s breath stops, as she stares into his dark eyes that search hers for answers, “Marcus, I love you too.”

“You do?” he asks slightly bewildered. 

Abby giggled, “Yes, I do you idiot.”

Then before she can say more, he kisses her, really kisses her, until the taste of her lips stains his. 

“Good,” he whispers as they pull away, “because now that I’ve seen you in scrubs there’s no way I’d let you go. You’ll be the death of me woman.”

His hands hold her tight against him, as his lips swallow another whimsical giggle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, the warmest and most sincere thank you I can give. I know this update took a bit longer, and that the chapter was well ... not short by any means. But it only felt right to group these scenes together. I hope you enjoyed and weren't disappointed too much. As always, I am very grateful for any and all kudos and comments. You guys are the best! Until the next chapter (because WHAT Vera Kane?).


	14. The Story Of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month. *laughs nervously* I apologize immensely for the delay, but I'm also here to present you with the longest chapter I've ever written! 
> 
> Warnings: If you have trouble reading major abandonment and explicit scenes. Just be aware, there are some below. 
> 
> There will only be (what I'm thinking) four to five more chapters left until this story comes to an end. So thank you if you're still reading it! Also, I again apologize both for the wait and for the length of this chapter...

_to heal_

_you have to_

_get to the root_

_of the wound_

_and kiss it all the way up_

_\- Rupi Kaur_

* * *

 

Clarke stared down at the post it she’d scribbled on with Vera’s number on her bed with a gross feeling in her stomach. When her mother had burst through the house a couple of nights ago, practically slamming her bedroom door, she had crumpled it up and shoved it in her drawer for another time. Clarke had kept her distance from the loud drawer shoving, and thrown shoes against the wall. She waited for the shower to inevitably turn on, but when it never did, and the house was left in an eerie silence, she knew something was wrong.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find her mom laying down on her mattress, dress still on, facing the windows. Clarke took notice that the zipper of her dress was not properly pulled all the way up. As if she had tried herself to slip it back into a place – a hard thing to do with this particular gown. Clarke gathered two ideas. One, her and Marcus did the thing and she was exhausted. Two, her and Marcus almost did the thing but something went awry.

As she saw her mothers’ shoulders shake, and her body curled up into itself, Clarke immediately went with the latter. Abby tensed when she felt the bed dip, as Clarke climbed on, as if she hadn’t heard Clarke open her bedroom door earlier. Her daughter asked no questions. Instead she laid behind Abby, and gently stroked her hair away from her face, softly lulling her mother into a sleep. She ached to text Octavia what the hell happened, but decided against it.

Either Abby was asleep or busy, no in between. She ran herself rampant the days after. Cleaning the entire house, cooking homemade breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Walking Wilson twice more than he was used to. (Which equaled a total of two times a day.) Abby ran unnecessary errands like taking her car through a drive-thru wash and spending hours at home décor stores looking for new jars and vases. Suddenly the home couldn’t be a home without a spinning spice holder. She almost bought a Roomba.

Abby was avoiding the issue, and Clarke knew this.

On Sunday night, they sat around the kitchen table eating the lemon-pepper chicken Abby had made. Clarke absent-mindedly pushed around her white rice when her mother finally spoke, “Thank you for being patient with me. I know,” Abby ran her finger over the edge of her glass of water, “I know I’ve been checked out.”

Clarke nodded solemnly before she whispered, “It’s okay. Should I be concerned going into work tomorrow?”

Abby immediately shakes her head, “No honey. Not at all.”

The silence that follows presents the question Clarke is too afraid to ask. _What happened?_

“We had an argument,” Abby murmurs, “and I’m … I’m dealing with it as best I can.”

“So you two haven’t broken up then?” Clarke asks impulsively this time.

It’s impossible to miss the large breath Abby takes before answering, “There’s this one tiny moment that happens after ever argument you’ll have with a person you love Clarke. It’s your bodies’ initial reaction to the decision you’re going to voice a few hours later. Even if you leave in a fit of anger or crying, in that one moment where there are no more words you can say or handle, you’ve already decided whether or not what happened is something you can forgive. The problem occurs when the two of you don’t have a consensus on that _one tiny moment_.”

What follows is something Abby can’t avoid. Something she can’t deny.

“You love him?” Clarke asks, her fork slowly slipping from her hand.

“I-“ Abby gulps, “did I say that?”

“You said ‘with a person you love’ mom,” Clarke can’t help but press.

“Oh,” Abby states softly. Her word coated in surprise, and her eyes the opposite of still. They bounce from side to side, her chest heaving with the calmest panic attack Clarke has witnessed in her life. It was unknowing to her mother, up until this moment that maybe she did in fact love Marcus.

“It’s okay if you do,” Clarke quickly muttered, shoving a fork full of rice into her mouth. Abby remains in a state of enlightenment, with a look that showed she was physically there but mentally elsewhere. Then her eyes meet Clarke’s across the small wooden table.

“I don’t know,” she bites her lip and then continues, “I can’t know. It’s been two and a half months. That’s not even a fourth of the year.”

“And time has what correlation with love?” Clarke raises her eyebrow, a taunting smirk pulling at the ends of her mouth. “You only knew dad for a few months before I was you know,” Clarke rotated her fork forward and shrugged her shoulders suggesting the thing she didn’t want to say aloud.

“I know,” Abby stated sharply.

“So you love him,” Clarke exasperates, “what’s so wrong with that?”

“Can we change the subject?” Abby shakes her head, swallowing a gulp of her water, before aggressively cutting into her chicken. Her daughter agreed. No longer asking questions that would send her mom down a spiral of self-reflection.

But now, Clarke sat cross-legged with her phone in one hand and the post it in another. All she had to do was call. Call and lie. Call and lie and hold a secret. How hard could it be?

Her fingers dialed the phone number, and it rang once, twice, three times, and before the fourth could begin, there was a loud knock on her door. Clarke jumped as she pushed the end button, and shoved the note under her leg. Abby peeked her head through the crack of her door, she was wearing a striped cream, pastel blue and pink midi skirt, and a cream ruffled top. Her purse hanging from one shoulder, and an overnight duffel on the other.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” she asked as she tugged a strand of her hair out from under one of the straps pulling it.

Clarke shook her head and then smiled, “I’ll drive over tomorrow for the dinner.”

“Okay,” Abby said, “text me if you need anything, there’s left over pasta in the fridge. Love you!”

Clarke watched as her mother walked out, her hair half up in a clipped bun, and matching blue platform sandals. “Love you too! Don’t forget her gift, I already signed the card!” Clarke called after her.

Abby looked at her GPS and then turned down the winding road on a side of a hill, giving a perfect view of the river that ran through Polis and stopped to serve as a lake where the dam in Arkadia was built. She could see houses hidden between the trees, with large windows and many more rooms than necessary. She could see small boats on the water, and people enjoying dinner at the restaurants by the docks. Her GPS told her to take a right at the next light, and then a left onto the main neighborhood road.

It’d taken her almost two hours to drive from TonDC to Arkadia, and she reminded herself to tell Marcus how crazy he’d been for the first months picking and dropping her off before driving home. As she turned onto the long road towards his subdivision, her phone rang.

“Hello,” Abby answered, her eyes widening at the large houses, neither one designed the same as its neighbor, both on her left and right. The roads perfectly paved, with the inevitable “We love our children” signs.

“Hey, where are you?” his voice asked distantly on the other end of the line.

“I just turned into your subdivision, and I’ve already seen several men and women exercising, _in groups Marcus, in groups_ ,” she laughs, her eyes searching for his house number.

“Remember I’m the last house-“

“On the left,” she cuts him off, thankful for the reminder, “I know.”

“Just making sure,” Marcus states loudly.

“What are you doing?” Abby asks curiously, finally approaching his house. She turns onto a driveway made of different types of brown stone, and has to gently press on the brakes in order to grasp the beautiful white stucco home, vines growing with red flowers on parts of it, accented by black shutters, and clay tiles on the roof.

“I’m trying to gather all the liquor I have in my kitchen,” Marcus huffs, “so I can hide it elsewhere.” If Abby were in the room she’d have seen him shoving bottles of whiskey, rum, bourbon, and even tequila into a small plastic box. She’d have seen him smile wide, at the sound of her explosive laugh on the other end of the line.

But Abby had continued her way down the driveway, stopping when it diverted into two paths, one slowly curved like a circle, leading the driver to the front door of his home. The other ran straight for his garage. Abby followed the first, and could see the pavement curve around a large fountain spewing clear water from its spouts, and then connect back to the same road that would take guests back to where they entered.

As she pushed open her car door she didn’t know if she was delusional or not, but the air smelled different. It whirled around her in aromas of salt, dirt, and grass – so completely emanating the Earth at its finest that she regretted having only one tree in her front yard. Large oak trees and tall rose bushes hid his courtyard, but her eyes could not divulge from the patch of sunflowers surrounding the stone fountain.

“I’m outside,” she tells him unable to hide her awe. Abby can barely make out his reply, before she ends the call, letting her arm fall loosely at her side. To her right further down the curved road, is a small building that carries the same design elements as his home. Except, it has lavender growing in an organized wild around it.

Abby is brought back to life by the sound of his front door opening, and his footsteps approaching her. He’s in a sports team t-shirt that she doesn’t bother trying to recognize, dark denim, and casual tennis shoes.

Without a given thought his arms snake around her waist, pulling her into him tightly. Marcus’s nose dives in between the crevice of her neck and shoulders, and he kisses her bare skin, gaining small giggles and squirms from Abby.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her between nips. As she shuts her car door behind her, Marcus pushes her body until her back hits the cool metal. Abby takes the opportunity to hook her hands around his neck, softly shoving her shoulder against his mouth, until he chuckles lifting his chin to kiss her lips. Their hips meet one another, as Marcus pins her between himself and her car. Abby’s bottom lip slips between his, and he tugs on it softly, tasting the the mint from her balm.

“Are you kidding me? It’s daylight!” Octavia’s voice groans beside them, and Abby immediately pulls away blushing, before hiding her face in Marcus’s chest.

“We were hardly doing anything illicit Octavia,” Marcus turns to her, feigning annoyance.

“Please don't make out like that in front my friends,” she warns them, while taking slow steps towards the couple tangled up against one another. They pull away from each other, until the last touch they feel is the tips of their fingers letting go.

“Duly noted Birthday girl,” Abby smiles and pulls Octavia into a hug. The young girl, a couple of inches taller than Abby, welcomes the embrace with a smile.  

“Well technically tomorrow,” Octavia quips, earning a light swat on the back of her head from her father before he opened the back doors of the car and retrieved Abby’s bags.

Abby pulled back enough to roll her eyes, before Octavia whispered, “Do you know what he got me? He’s stiff as board, no clues.”

Octavia's fingers dig into the skin of Abby’s elbows, and her colored eyes search Abby’s expression for any sign that she might know. However Abby sighs, clutching Octavia’s shoulders with her hands, “I’m held to utmost secrecy-” Abby begins and Octavia takes a deep breath retreating. She places her hand over her heart dramatically.

“Oh,” she exhales from her lips, shaking her head side to side, before putting her hand on her hips facing the two adults now at each other's sides, matching blank expressions, pure evil, “one of you will break, just wait,” Octavia challenged before walking back inside the house.

“She has no idea,” Marcus mumbled leading the way to his front door, “she always found out as a kid, snooped through receipts or somehow got me to slip. But she has zero clues this year and I think it's driving her insane,” he laughed.

To say the entrance of his home was grand, at best, was an understatement. The ceilings were high and the dark wooden floor inviting. It smelled of pine and cinnamon, like it was fall year-round in the confines of his stucco home.

“Come on, I’ll give you a tour!” a cheery Octavia appeared by her side, obviously with ulterior motives.

“You're beating a dead horse Octavia,” her father yelled at her while roaming in the opposite direction with Abby’s bags.

Octavia grabbed Abby’s hands regardless of her dad’s comments, and dragged her down the hall to their left. There were two shut doors matching the wood of the floor, and one open room.

Octavia pointed to the first one on their right, “Guest bathroom, no need to show you our working toilets.” Then she moved them along to the next door on the right, “This is our guest room,” Octavia stated cracking open the door. It was all white, with emerald green and gray accents. It had a big window towards the back, letting in way too much natural sunlight. Abby quickly noticed that Marcus had walked down the other hall with her bags, and she let herself believe that perhaps there was another spare room down that way. However, deep down she knew that there wasn’t, and even closer to her truth she was hoping there was just the one guest bedroom … where her bags were not.

Then Octavia turned to the left, “And my room,” she smiled opening the last door fully and walking in, signaling Abby to join her as well. The room was large to say the least, definitely bigger than any room she had provided for Clarke, it was almost the size of her own master bedroom back home. Octavia had her desk set in one corner, with textbooks, her laptop, a lamp, and black stationery set. Her bed had an iron canopy, with white translucent sheets hanging in loops, and a sofa in front of it. A large black furry carpet laid under their feet, and matched the victorian pattern of her teal bed set. She had a matching iron television set, and two book cases on its side to display numerous trophies, plaques, and medals. On her night stand was a bluetooth speaker, and on her walls a mixture of movie posters and music artists.

“Your room is beautiful,” Abby told her truthfully.

“Thanks,” she grinned, “dad hired someone to decorate it a few years ago when we both decided that stenciled butterflies and flowers engraved in my wooden bed were … outdated.”

Abby chuckled, “Oh yeah trust me I get it. Clarke all but insisted on painting the walls of her pink room gray when she turned fifteen.”

“Oh god,” Octavia made a disgusted face, “if dad ever painted anything of mine pink I would disown him.”

“Also noted,” Abby nodded once.

“My bathroom is in there,” she pointed to a closed door across from her bed, “but I haven’t cleaned that yet ... so we’re just going to head out now,” she pulled Abby out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

They headed down the hallway where they came from, and turned left into the open space where the living room was hiding behind a black stone wall. The television was mounted on the other side of the stone wall dividing the threshold from the personal living space. Octavia reached over and pressed gently on the wall underneath the TV, and the hard material moved to the side to reveal several movies.

“I don’t know why dad still buys these when we have like Netflix and stuff,” she shrugged her shoulders, “and these aren’t even a fourth of what he has upstairs.”

They had couches that connected to each other to make a square missing one side. A sleek coffee table, with books that had to be for show laying atop it. Behind them were glass sliding doors leading to the back yard. But first Octavia pointed to the left, where an open archway showed a long dinner table and a china display cabinet.

“That’s the _fancy_ dining table that we _never_ eat at, unless dad has his coworkers over for like holiday dinners and stuff.”

Then Octavia turns to the right and leads them to what Abby can tell is the kitchen. The bar is set up to face the island and stove top of the kitchen. Wine glasses hang from the ceiling of the bar, and Abby is surprised that Marcus hadn’t hid those too. She can see into the kitchen without actually walking in and she likes the open concept. Octavia walks over to the island and hops atop the sleek black tile and leans back on her hands.

“This is the kitchen obviously,” she shrugs, “where dad makes his one and only signature. Drum roll please,” and Abby is late to the request so Octavia takes it upon herself to slap her legs lightly, “ _toast!_ ”

“That is untrue I have evolved since you were five!” Marcus argues walking into the kitchen from the other smaller archway by the steel fridge. He opens it to retrieve a mini water bottle and quickly takes a sip before placing it back.

“Fine your spaghetti’s not bad,” Octavia sticks her tongue out at him.

“Hey Abby,” Marcus whips his head quickly in her direction.

“Yes?” She asks tentatively, unsure of why he would address her name so out of the blue.

“Don't you think Octavia's room looks _so nice_ when you can see the floor?” He raises his eyebrow and a smirk teases the corner of his lips.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” Octavia groans, rolling her eyes so far back it had to have hurt her. “It’s literally my birthday weekend, you can't be mean to me. It's against the rules.”

“What rules?” Marcus scoffs and heads over to Abby, his palms slide across her front and he pulls her back against his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder, swaying them side to side.

Octavia scrunches her face, “Ewww really it’s been like two days!”

They both blurt at the same time, “Five days.”

“ _Woooowwww_ , five days!” Octavia widens her eyes and twiddles her fingers in front her face sarcastically, “how will you two li- GROSS DAD!”

Octavia squeals as Marcus dives his nose into Abby’s neck smelling her perfume and laying little pecks on her skin. Abby squirms against his touch laughing, and trying to pull away for the sake of Octavia but Marcus has her trapped in his arms.

“Ridiculous,” Octavia comments jumping off the island, “I'm going to go finish cleaning my bathroom!” She yells walking away.

“We’ll leave in twenty minutes to go buy snacks!” Marcus shouts back at her.

“Okay!” Her muffled reply says before they hear her bedroom door close.

Marcus turns Abby then, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter near the stove, the back of her head inches from the wooden cabinet. His fingers skim her knee under her long skirt, and she leans in close to him, “I missed you,” Abby whispers. Her hands cradle his face and his eyes shut in instinctual bliss.

“I missed you too,” he smiles, “Clarke going to come by later?”

“She said she’ll be here tomorrow for the dinner,” Abby tells him, her fingers threading in the locks behind his skull. They stand quietly as Abby traces every bone, line, and feature on his face until she can remember it by pure memory. She loses count of the white in his salt and pepper beard, and kisses the tip of his nose earning a soft hum of delight right after.

“Where’s my stuff? I’m overdressed,” she tells him and one eye peeks open as if he wasn't sure she said that, then the other eye opens and she spots fear before he shakes his head.

“No, no, no,” he ticks his tongue against the top of his mouth, “you do not get to change out of this. You look way too beautiful.”

“You’re in jeans and Octavia was wearing work out clothes! I'm changing.” She lightly shoves him, and wiggles her way down until her feet hit the floor with a loud _clank!_

“Abby you’re not changing,” he grumbles and holds her by her waist, “you look fine!”

“At least let me change into jeans,” she grumbles pulling her way forward.

“Which jeans we talking?” Marcus mumbles curiously.

Abby stops and raises her eyebrow, catching his intent. She grabs his hands under her palms and turns her neck to face him, “tight dark blue denim.”

“From _Evergreene’s?_ ” He murmurs.

“Mhm,” she nods her head and swiping a kiss before breaking out of his hold and walking in the direction he came from defiantly.

Marcus watched her turn down the hall, heels clicking against the wooden floor, and then the noise stopped. She was thinking. He leaned his hips against the island and crossed his arms, patiently waiting. He tried his best to hide his smirk when the clack of her heels began again and she walked passed the archway in the opposite direction, then she stopped again. Finally he couldn't hide his chuckle when he heard her voice calmly echo through the house, “Marcus I don't know where the hell I'm going, show me to my bags.”

He shakes his head, following her voice and finding her at the entrance of the house.

“C’mon your stuff is this way,” he nods his chin in the direction she had just come from. Abby follows him without hesitation and they come to a stop by the bottom of small metal stairs, winding their way up.

“How did I miss these?” Abby turns in a full 360 before Marcus grabs her hand and leads them up the stairwell. “You climb these when you’re drunk?” Abby comments holding onto the railway, trying not to look down the spiral for fear of nausea.

“No,” he says a little too sternly, “of course not.”

Once they reach the second floor, she feels soft plush under her feet and she notices the hard wooden floor has been replaced by carpet. There are two doors, and one large window. It overlooks the road, and Abby quickly realizes they’re above the garage.

“Only half your house is two stories?” She asks when she's met with a wall on her left.

“Yes,” he answers her, “my study is in there,” he points to the single wooden door in front of them, “and my room,” he pauses to walk over to the closed double doors to their right, “is in here.”

Marcus steps inside nonchalantly, and Abby gulps, composing herself before following him. She shouldn’t be surprised at this point, surely, however she finds herself hiding a small gasp that escapes her mouth. Disregarding the modern traits of the rest of the house, his master bedroom does a wonderful job of mixing the new and old to form a warm middle. His large bed is fixed in the center of the black stone wall, with white comforters and maroon red pillows. There are small tables on the side of each bed, but only his nightstand holds a lamp with a golden lampshade. A black leather bench lays at the foot of the bed, matching the charcoal headboard. Abby quickly spots her duffel bag and purse delicately laid on the mattress, and doesn't ask _that_ question yet. His TV is mounted atop an electric fireplace on the opposite wall. She spots matching glass doors as those in the living room, and can see the concrete balcony welcoming her.

“Bathroom’s through there if you need to use it,” he points at door near the other side of his bed, where the night stand without a lamp is.

“I can’t believe you’ve insisted on dates at my house when you live _here!_ ” Abby accuses him, turning to poke in between his chest.

“I like your house,” Marcus begins.

“Oh shut up,” Abby shakes her head, biting back a laugh.

“It’s-”

“If you say cozy I swear to God,” Abby raises her eyebrow sharply, waltzing over to her bags.

“Lovely,” Marcus quickly states, coughing, “lovely house.”

* * *

 

They pull into the market at half past eleven in the morning, and Octavia swings her feet from the back seat, exiting the car. She staggers behind her father and Abby, taking note of their constant teasing and the small smile that never really fades from Marcus’s face. She watches as her father's fingers gently reach out to brush Abby’s knuckles, and they fall into a rehearsed step, as Abby’s fingers interlace with his.

Just as they approach the automatic doors of the grocery store, Abby turns behind her, in search of the missing teen. A small look of relief crosses Abby’s face when she spots Octavia, and Marcus walks away to grab a cart. Octavia watched Abby patiently wait for her dad and laugh when he couldn’t pull one of the stupid metal carts from its pack on the first try. It all seemed too good to be true, almost movie like, all she was missing was Bellamy. But they had a facetime date tomorrow for her birthday, so she’d already planned on shoving the camera in Abby’s face for the most formal introduction they could get.

However, at the sight of Abby placing her purse in the area where a child usually sits, and their bickering over who should push the cart, Octavia opened her phone to text her brother.

 _Octavia_ : _Dad’s obvi in love_

Only a few seconds passed before she received a reply.

_Bellamy: Hello to you too. Why are you saying this?_

_Octavia: Because he is and ur missing it_

_Bellamy: I’ll be home for Thanksgiving._

_Bellamy: If he really loves her, she’ll be around then._

_Octavia: Sending pics_

_Bellamy: No! O don’t be a creep!_

But Octavia had already raised her phone to gain a snapshot of them helping the other put a large bundle of bananas in a plastic bag.

She sent the photo without another thought.

_Bellamy: Wait, I thought you guys had your groceries delivered?_

_Octavia: WE DO!!!!_

_Bellamy: Yep. He’s got it bad._

Octavia found herself snickering at the text message, but was brought back to the current situation when Marcus called out to her, trying to gain her attention for the fifth time.

“Sorry what?” Octavia asked, clicking her phone off.

“Abby said she can make banana pancakes for breakfast tomorrow, is that alright?”

“Really?” Octavia raised her eyebrow, “You can make those?”

Abby chuckled, “They were quite the hit at Clarke’s sleepovers. Only if you want, of course.”

“Sounds good!” Octavia nodded, cheekily smiling.

They roamed the fruits and vegetable aisles picking up watermelons, strawberries, pineapples, and melon for the girls to eat while they were outside by the pool. Then Octavia was fully in charge of whatever snacks for after-hours munching. They followed the sixteen-year-old girl as she mercilessly threw in a mix of chips, cookies, chocolate, candy, drinks, and popcorn.

“You’re all going to collectively get stomach aches, and I am excluding Abby from emergency calls at three in the morning,” Marcus warned her as they stood in line at check out.

“Excuse me, that’s unfair,” Octavia began her rebuttal as she helped unpack the collective fat and sugar onto the beltway, “First of all, we won’t _all_ get stomach aches. Second, we can’t just omit Abby’s medical abilities-”

“I’m afraid with stomach aches I can’t do much but warn you guys in advance, and offer Pepto-Bismol and mineral water or Sprite,” Abby shrugged politely, stating her thoughts frankly.

Octavia stopped short, “Well at least that’s in the cart so I say we’re good.”  

* * *

It’s four thirty in the afternoon when their first guest arrives, and not by a doorbell but by Octavia shouting from the back yard, where she helps her dad prepare the pull out tables with plates of cut up fruit that she and Abby labored over for almost an hour.

“Luna’s outside!”

Abby awkwardly stops filling the chip bowl in the kitchen and listens for any further words or sounds of feet going to open the door. She’s met with the continued sound of Marcus and Octavia struggling to open the plastic white tables.

Then the doorbell rings.

Abby exhales a breath she was unaware she had been holding and begins walking over to the entrance of the house. She questions whether or not it was okay for her to be the one welcoming Octavia’s friends and decides she can’t leave the girl waiting out there forever.

She pulls open the tall black door, to a girl in rock band t-shirt and matching black track shorts. She had a red duffel bag hanging on her shoulder, and small gift in her other hand. Her hair was curly and the color of reddish brown, and her eyes were accented by thick eyeliner.

“Hi,” she spoke calmly.

“Hello,” Abby smiled nervously, “Octavia’s in the back,” she said motioning for the girl to walk in. But Luna just stood observing Abby unapologetically right in front of her face.  

“You’re Abby right?” Luna stated, a bored look on her face.

Abby swallowed and then nodded slowly, “Yes.”

“Cool,” Luna shook her head once and walked passed a frozen Abigail Griffin, who stood still for a good ten seconds before shutting the front door again. Then she retreated slowly back to the kitchen where Marcus was looking for a pitcher and disposable utensils.

“Good you’re back,” she sighed running a hand through the top of her head, “you’re on front door duty.”

At this Marcus laughed, grabbing a clear pitcher from one of the cabinets, “Luna’s the more serious of the four, no need to be frightened.”

Then the doorbell rang again, and Marcus looked at her with a mischievous smile on his lips, before he lifted his arms, “Hands are full, sorry love.” Then he disappeared. Abby didn’t know which part to focus on more, the fact that the doorbell rang again, or the fact that Marcus just called her “love.”

Abby tried her best to control the late feeling of heat on her cheeks, before she opened the door once more to a guest. She was met with another girl and her serious looking mother. Where had she seen this woman before? They had matching dark brown eyes, and black thick hair. Just as the previous friend, this girl was also wearing the same black track shorts, but a different colored tank top. The same red duffel as Luna as well. Then it occurred to Abby that Octavia’s closest friends were probably that of her travel team.

“Hi,” Abby smiled sweetly, “Octavia’s in the back with Luna already-”

“Thanks!” the girl said excitedly before rushing her way inside.

“Quite the trip to get over here,” the older woman shrugged, “she’s just excited.”

Abby turned to make full eye contact, “She seems lovely. We’ll make sure they don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Oh good luck with that,” the woman laughed heartily, “wait until you witness them all in the same hotel.”

Abby smirked at that, these friends were obviously pretty long term. She stuck out her hand, “I’m sorry have we met before, I’m Abby, you just seem very familiar.”

The woman took her hand in a strong borderline painful handshake, “I’m Indra, I work with Marcus.”

Abby’s eyes widened, “Oh,” the word sputtered before she could stop it.

“My daughter Gaia, plays on the same travel team as Octavia, they have since middle school,” she clarified.

Abby nodded suddenly self-conscious for the sole reason that she kissed Marcus in front of a majority of his team only a week ago.

“I’m happy to see you here,” Indra smiled, “Marcus seems … different.”

“Different good? Or different bad?” Abby raises her eyebrow.

Indra laughs, “Marcus is good at separating his professional life from his personal, almost too good. But since you, it’s hard for him to not _want_ to talk about you or Octavia and you together. It’s … different.”

Abby smiles softly at this, wondering if Indra knew of his bachelor lifestyle, just as Nate did. Indra senses Abby’s change in demeanor quickly.

“Abby,” Indra says in a soft tone, “If it’s any consolation, I’ve known Marcus before AMS. He is most commonly … restless. Never satisfied with himself. But he is a wonderful father to Octavia, and has a good heart.”

“Indra,” Abby sighs, rolling her shoulders back, trying to relieve the tension.

“I never thought the man would be done fucking around,” her voice lowers in a serious tone that makes Abby’s breath stop and their eyes meet, “but he is.”

Abby can barely gather her thoughts before Marcus appears at her side, pulling Indra in for a brief hug.

“I saw Gaia and wanted to catch you before you left,” he told her as he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I was just telling Abby she hasn’t had to deal with the girls in the same hotel before,” Indra smirked, tactfully diverting from what they were actually just talking about.

Marcus chuckled throwing his head back, “We have way too many stories on that topic.”

“Well,” Indra states clasping her hands together, “I should get going. I’ll pick her up around noon tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Marcus smiles.

Indra turns to walk away but then looks back at the couple saying, “I hope to see you next weekend Abby!” before getting in her car and driving off.

Abby turns to Marcus, who has already shut the door, “What’s happening next weekend?” Abby asks.

Marcus runs a hand over his face nervously and begins walking to the kitchen, “Just one of Octavia's closer out of town tournaments.”

Abby follows, “Oh, I see.”

“I was going to ask you on Sunday before you went home,” Marcus pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, “after seeing how this weekend went because I don't want to pressure you into traveling and staying in a hotel with us. But I mean if you wanted I could just book another room-”

“Marcus,” Abby laughs, shutting him up as she places her palms on his cheeks, “that sounds like fun. I’d love to see her play.”

His eyes light up, “Thank God, I was really hoping you’d say yes.”

Two more girls arrive, and the afternoon takes off. Octavia connects her phone to the outside speakers and the girls eat fruit while playing in the pool. Once they’ve had enough of being in the water, the pizza arrives and they scarf it down hungrily. It’s not until they’re getting ready to return to the secrecy of Octavia’s bedroom that a sudden craving for ice cream is hit by all. So because it is Octavia’s birthday Marcus is sent to the market a little further out that is open later.

* * *

Abby heard the giggles and chatter of the girls muffle when Octavia’s door closed. Whatever would happen next, whether it be gossip, deep talks, dumb talks, or just plain fun, made Abby nostalgic of Clarke only a few years ago. As she took the slices of extra pizza from the boxes and placed as many would fit into ziploc bags she found in their pantry, she was reminded of wishing she had an extra person to help set up, clean, and from a distance chaperon. But Jake had been gone, and she had to super mom to the best of her abilities.

Now, she waits for Marcus to return from the corner store, and looks around at the kitchen practically in the sterile state as it was that morning, and she felt peace. Abby heard footsteps approaching before she saw Octavia walk into the kitchen, fresh from her shower in pajamas.

“Hey,” Abby said with a small smile, “only about an hour left.”

Octavia returned the calm enthusiasm, “I know. I’m excited for tomorrow too, when Clarke gets here and everything.”

At this Abby nods before quietly speaking, “Yeah, yeah, she’ll be here. She wouldn’t miss it.”

Slowly Abby walks over to the fridge with leftover pizza in hand and finds a shelf to lay them. As she’s shutting the door, Octavia speaks behind her, “Can we like talk outside for a little bit?”

Abby’s fingers freeze on the door handle, and she nods almost too quickly, while still facing the refrigerator. Octavia’s tone didn’t seem angry or nosy like she was still digging around for her birthday gift. It was soft, almost hesitant and scared, which was two things Abby knew Octavia _was not_. So, she took a deep breath, and turned to face the young lady with concerned green eyes.

“Yea honey, of course.”

At the pet name Octavia couldn’t help but smile. She led the way to the backyard, closing the sliding doors behind them, and walking down the cement steps, sitting on the last two. Abby followed, and sat beside Octavia with her hands in her lap.

“I just wanted to thank you for tonight,” she began, “all the girls really liked you.”

“You’re welcome, I mean they seem like good friends to have, so it was really no problem,” Abby tried to shrug off the compliment but Octavia continued insisting.

“No really,” Octavia stated sternly, looking out into the hills filled with small lights and the pool illuminated a sea green. She couldn’t make herself face Abby as she continued talking, “Dad doesn’t do this often Abby, he doesn’t bring people home. And I’m glad that it’s you. I’m really glad it’s you. And I know it sounds stupid but you’re like one of the most awesome people I know and I just wanted to kind of show you off to my friends, because I’m happy you’re here … for real.”

Abby gently turns to face Octavia, making out her silhouette only shadowed by the lights turned on in the house. She feels her throat tighten and her abdomen tense, suddenly she’s very aware of the girls tight jaw and it’s all so … Marcus.

“Octavia,” Abby begins, “that means a lot to me, you have no idea.” Then, Abby very tentatively raises her arm to wrap around Octavia’s shoulders and pulls the girl into her side.  

“I don’t mean to get all sappy,” Octavia murmurs as she lays her head in between Abby’s neck and shoulder, holding the one hand still on her lap within her own.

“What is with this family and holding in feelings,” Abby lowly chuckles, “I much prefer the sap over no sap at all.”

Octavia joins her gentle laughter, “We’ve just had a rough time getting here, is all,” she states quietly.

Octavia can feel Abby’s fingers tighten around her shoulder for a brief second, “I know honey,” Abby murmurs, “well I know enough, I think. I trust your father will tell me everything when he’s ready.”

A silence falls over them, and they listen to the wind blow through the trees, and the rumble of the life below them. Octavia contemplates her next move in her head, deciding whether or not it was her place to intervene. But how can she not? What if her dad _never_ told Abby the things he should, and Abby left. Octavia wouldn’t let that happen, she couldn’t. Abby was one of the best things that happened to them.

“He hasn’t told you about Vera or Callie yet has he?” Octavia whispered, digging her face a little further into Abby’s skin, trying to hide.

Abby tried not to look completely taken aback by the sudden announcement of names she’d never heard of. Women names at that. And she wanted to retreat, she so badly wanted to retreat and ask Marcus himself but she didn’t. Instead she let her curiosity get the best of her, and she replied, “no.”

“He’ll tell you Abby,” Octavia sighed, “there’s no way he won’t.”

“Well I’ll hold you to that,” Abby said trying to make light of the subject.

But Octavia, lifted her head and brought her knees up to her chest, as Abby leaned to put both elbows on her own knees. They both faced the city.

“Vera is my dads mom,” Octavia mumbled quickly, like she was trying to get through the story as quick as she could, so Abby listened intently, “my grandma. Except, when she found out that he had, you know, got my mom pregnant from a one night stand and not so much as called my mom, or knew of my existence until my accident, she couldn’t believe him. Even when I lived with him, I never met her because she didn’t want to meet me. They haven’t talked since.”

Abby nodded, quietly pleading Octavia to continue.

“Dad said she was religious and so was he at some point. But we don’t go to church now. He can’t even walk in one now because it just reminds him of her.”

Abby’s memory flashed back to the cross in his car, and his unnerving want to not talk about it that one night many moons ago.

“And Callie,” Octavia continued, “she’s not as serious as that story. If anything her and my dad were just like … weird.”

“Weird?” Abby is able to choke out.

“Yeah,” Octavia nodded, “she used to work with my dad. And they dated for a few months.”

Abby swallowed, “I didn’t realize your father had been serious with anyone else recently.”

“I mean serious is not really the word I would use to describe them,” Octavia commented curtly, “I barely met her twice. Both times in Polis, one by accident at his office. But I guess he liked her enough to invite her to live with us.”

Abby’s heart stopped.

“Except she said no,” Octavia sighed, “and that was _weird_. They ended up breaking up like the day after.”

Abby can feel the sharp pain of ice running through her fingers and nerves, as she once again is told another chunk of Marcus’s past from someone _other than_ Marcus. When would it all come out? She asked herself. When will I finally be done finding out _something else?_ She pleaded.

“Can I be honest with you?” Octavia finally looked at Abby, bringing her back to the present.

Abby couldn’t trust her voice so she simply nodded.

“If my dad hasn’t told you any of this, please don’t be angry at him. I think he’s tired of being broken, and I know he doesn’t seem that way. He’s really good about making everything seem fine and fancy. But he’s still dealing with his demons, or whatever they say. And let me tell you, my dad doesn’t like looking weak to _anyone_. Especially not to those he cares about. He wants you to love him Abby, and he won’t believe you will when you find out everything I’ve just told you. Even if you already do.”

They sit together, breaths in sync, as Abby comprehends all the information Octavia has laid out to her.

Finally, Abby speaks, “Can I be honest _with you_ , Octavia?”

“Always,” she tells her, and Abby brings her hands to softly cup Octavia’s warm cheeks.

“I look at you and I see so much of him,” she begins, “you both are decisive and tough and yet completely …empathetic. You’re both annoyingly witty. But without a doubt, you both love eachother more than anything in the world. I see that. No matter what it took to get here. That selflessness he has for you Octavia, I see it in the little things like him going to buy ice cream at eleven at night,” they laugh together, “I’m not afraid of loving your father. Because I see him. But … I think he’s afraid of seeing himself and fully forgiving himself. Because for that amount of time, he has to strip down and confront and move on from all you’ve told me. He has to be … _vulnerable_ and to Marcus that’s the same as _weak_.”

Abby can barely react when Octavia pulls her in for a tight hug and tells her, “This is why you can’t go anywhere.”

At this, Abby smiles cradling the back of Octavia’s neck, and leans into kiss the crown of her head, “I don’t plan on it.” Abby pulls the girl back and smiles, “now go have fun with your friends, and Happy Birthday Octavia.”

Octavia’s eyes widen as she checks her phone and it says 12:00 a.m., “Thank you Abby.” And with one last hug she dashes off into the house. She watches as the girl diverts into the kitchen, and then only a few seconds later runs out with a two pints of ice cream in her hands. Marcus approaches the clear doors, and crosses his arms, looking down at Abby sitting on the steps alone.

“C’mon,” he shakes his head in the direction of the house, “I stashed all the booze in my study.”

Abby chuckles, pushing herself up and walking over to him, “Only one drink. We are in charge of five teenage girls remember.”

Just as Abby is about to pass him, he pulls her roughly into his arms, trapping her against his chest. One arm wrapping around her back, and his other hand roaming down to grip her ass. Abby yelps, trying to push him away and giggling with useless protests, “Marcus the girls are-”

“In a closed room, try again,” he mumbles.

“Down the hall!” she laughs reaching behind her to grasp his hand between her palms, failing at moving his firm hold even a couple of inches.

“It’s these damn jeans,” he smiles as his other hand cups her ass, and then in one fluid movement he leans down and lifts Abby up, until her only option is to wrap her legs around his waist.

“I’m never wearing them again,” she teases, but her fingers loop through locks of his hair, as he begins walking them through the kitchen.

“Lies,” he shakes his head side to side. They reach the bottom of his stairwell, and he gently places her back down on the first step. Abby’s feet hit the metal steps, and she has a questioning look on her face. “What? I’m not twenty five anymore Abigail, do you want my spine to work tomorrow or not?” he laughs.

“All I'm saying is you carried Wilson up concrete steps on our second non-date,” she chided him as she began climbing the winding staircase.

“And my body paid the price the next morning,” he retorted gruffly.

They arrive on the second floor, and Abby wrestles with what to say next in her head. She could evidently head into his room and make herself at home, or she could offer to sleep in the guest room, or hell even on the couch. _Okay not the couch_ , she thought, _let’s not be ridiculous Abby_. But correctly reading her hesitancy Marcus led them to his bedroom saying, “You can shower if you’d like, I’ll take one after you.”

Abby nods, making a beeline for her bags, not understanding where all the new tension was deriving from. She’d just spent a whole day with him, but only now is she aware of the knots in her stomach.

“Yeah, a shower sounds nice,” she smiles pulling out some grey cotton shorts and matching spaghetti strap tank.

Marcus runs a hand through his hair, and heads over to the double doors for the bathroom. When she has a pile of her new clothes in one hand, and her toothbrush and necessary hair product in the other he opens the doors to a grand bathroom of which Abby kicked herself for not using before. The tiles were a sleek black, and a mix of silver and white countertops. She took note of two sinks, one with only another carrier for soap.

“Umm towels are in here,” he stated opening a small cabinet next to the tub. Yes, a huge deep pearl tub, with warm colored candles on its corners. “I’ll just get you two so you won’t have to,” he murmured pulling out cream plush towels and hanging them on the rack by the shower.

Abby nodded, placing her clothes down on the marble top, and setting her toothbrush by the edge of the second sink.

“The floor tiles can be heated if you’d like,” he turns to her bashfully, and her left eyebrow shoots up.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she spits out with zero filter.

Marcus’s chest flushes, and the pink slowly crawls up his neck, “I mean only if you want.”

“Well does it make a difference?” Abby asks curiously.

“I like it,” he shrugs.

“Okay I’ll try it,” Abby answers quickly, and he lets out a breath before walking over to a small device by the shower. It looks like a mini iPad planted on the wall. Abby watches as he presses buttons on the tablet, and then looks over to her.

“Do you want to listen to music while you shower?” he asks in such a soft tone Abby has to ask him to repeat himself.

Then when he does, she groans, “For Christs sake am I staying at the _Four Seasons_ here?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he retorts before she’s by his side, leaning over his shoulder.

“What do you listen to?” she inquires as he scrolls through artists names on his library.

“A lot of things,” he answers.

“Okay well what do you listen to when you shower every morning?”

“Well depends what I have going on that day.”

“Speak more words,” she tells him to elaborate.

Marcus chuckles, leaning back into her small frame as she wraps her arms around him.

“Well I have three main playlists,” he tells her, “I have the I really need to close the deal on this contract playlist, which is more upbeat I’m about to play in the World Cup or Superbowl type of stuff.”

“Dear God,” Abby laughs, “not that one, next.”

She’s happy to feel his laughter rumble underneath her palms, “I have a concentration one, when I don’t feel like hearing words. Which is a lot of piano and cello.”

“Okay,” Abby comments, “and the last?”

“My casual playlist, Octavia says it’s depressing, I think calm and peaceful is more accurate.”

“That one,” Abby nods her head “play that one.”

Marcus turns, “You sure? You can literally play _anyone_ you want.”

“I’m sure,” she smiles, and Marcus touches one button as music begins to softly play inside the shower, around the tub, and above the large mirror on the sinks.

“You can just press pause when you’re done,” he tells her, “I’ll probably listen to the same when I shower, so I’ll turn it off.”

“Sounds good,” Abby nods, and they both stand in the others arms, not quite wanting to leave yet. But it was too soon, way too soon, to enter that glossy windowed shower together. _Or was it?_ They both thought, but then awkwardly turned in another direction.

Marcus gave her one last smile before closing the two doors behind him. Abby was met with a woman’s angelic voice softly strumming from the speakers as she turned on the shower, and she was surprised at the choice. She again, didn’t know who the fuck it was, and scolded herself for not listening to more music.

As she lifted her blouse over her head, a horrible, terrible thought crossed her mind. A thought she wished she didn’t want to follow so badly. Nonetheless, it caused her to drop her top on the floor and roam over to the drawers of Marcus’s counter. Quietly she slid one open and was met with cotton swabs, contact cases, a mini contact solution, and mini scissors. She lowered herself to the second drawer and opened it just as slow as the first and instead saw nail clippers, different lotions, and extra boxes of toothpaste. Nothing suspicious. Then she spotted a break in the large mirror, and ran her fingertips along the bottom edge, pulling on it slightly. It was a hidden medicine cabinet, and holy shit there was a lot of pills.

Abby heard someone walking in the room, and stupidly it increased her blood pressure, even though she knew he wouldn’t come back in while the shower was on.

Her fingers reached for the bottles, trying not to make the pills rattle as she studied the labels. A third of them were over the counter headache and pain relief, some flu and fever pills, and a couple sinus pills. Some were vitamins. But there were two bottles that were medically prescribed. One for sleeping and one for migraines. They were brands that were very heavily dosed, and dangerous if not taken correctly.

It wasn’t extremely concerning to Abby. Marcus was always on the go, with a million things on his mind. It was also no surprise that with his lack of sleep, his immune system would often give up on him. She didn’t feel anxious looking at all the bottles, she felt sad. _Was he always so mentally and physically restless?_

Abby shut the cabinet slowly, not even noticing his many hair products, and creams. Which would not have surprised her either. She didn’t open another drawer after her discovery, and stripped down to her bare skin, finally entering the hot shower.

The water fell gracefully down her head and back, and she couldn’t help but let out a small moan. She used his soap, shampoo, and conditioner, kind of regretting not bringing her own. But the scents weren’t too musky, where it nauseated her, they smelled like him and she liked that.

After shutting off the shower and stretching to pull a towel from the nearby rack, one of her bare feet hit the floor and she was expecting the sharp cold after a shower but instead it was like stepping into a room with a heater in the winter. _I hate him_ , she mused, _truly truly can’t believe this man_.

Minutes later she was dressed in her pajamas, drying her hair in the extra towel, and running the coconut spray she stashed in her bag to calm the usually frizzy waves. The rest of her skincare was in a pouch outside, so after neatly hanging his towels back in their place, pressing pause on the tablet, and folding her dirty clothes into a small pile, she opened the doors feeling a cool rush enter the bathroom and tickle her skin.

His room was empty, and Abby found this odd, but instead took the time to put her dirty clothes in a smaller plastic bag, and then in her overnight bag. She grabbed her black pouch and walked back to the bathroom. Just as she had finished moisturizing her skin, he walked in, announcing himself by dropping his phone on the hard tiled floor.

Now to understand Marcus’s complete and utter embarrassment due to the woman leaning over his marble counter, in the area of the second sink -- Actually, there was nothing to understand, all there was to know was something extremely teenage-like. This was that, he’d never seen as much of Abby’s skin in the bright light, until this exact moment. On her tiptoes her calves and toned thighs were accented, and her messy waves fell over one shoulder exposing her perfectly carved back, and embossed spine. He immediately spotted the freckles on her shoulders, of which he hadn’t noticed that one dark night in his office, and that was when his phone had fallen.

Then she turned, and he almost died.

 _What gave her the right to walk around my room in this ensemble of short shorts and tight top, like this?_ Marcus growled in his head, immediately bowing to grab his phone, and collect his teenage self.

“I’m done,” she smiled shyly at him, before roaming back to his room.

He coughed, “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he said shutting the bathroom doors, and really wanting that cold shower.

Abby heard the shower turn on and fixed her bags neatly on the floor, before she began wandering around his bedroom. First, his closet. A walk in, with a small futon in the middle, and dress shirts, suits, and matching pants hanging. A variety of fancy shoes, and then her eyes found a pack of watches on a shelf next to his ties. In the third row she spotted it, a gold Rolex, price tag still hanging on it, of which she avoided reading purposefully.

“So you weren’t lying,” she murmured.

Her fingers skimmed the fabric of his suits, until she finally reached the side of his closet with normal people clothes. Like polos and jeans, he of course even had a few sports jerseys. She listened for any sign he was out of the bathroom and upon hearing the lull of the shower still on, she gently opened one of his drawers.

Abby’s eyes fell upon underwear, then on the drawer below socks, nothing unusual. She then opened the drawer on the top right, and finally found what she was looking for. The sign that even though he was richer than God, he didn’t walk around in hundred dollar polos all the time. And although she _knew this_ , the vision of cotton t-shirts folded properly in the three drawers on the right side only confirmed that.

Her body shivered, and Abby noticed the goosebumps on her arms. She decided that maybe her choice of pajama was not the best. _I mean I could just borrow one of his shirts_ , she thought as her mind muddled around how she could ask this of him. Before she could thoroughly come up with an Abby plan for simply requesting a piece of clothing, she heard the bathroom door open.

Abby quickly exited his closet, “Marcus-” but nearly choked on his name as he walked over to her with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Yes?” he answered stopping in front of her, and if he was any more aware of the way she desperately tried not look at his damp chest, he would’ve turned a dark crimson.

“I umm,” Abby gulped, “I was wondering if I could borrow a t-shirt. It's cold.”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded walking past her into the closet, “sorry we have it pretty low but I can turn it up-”

“No it’s fine,” Abby cut him off, following his lead, watching as droplets of water ran down his back from the ends of his locks. The skin of his arms and shoulder was a bit blotchy pink, from what must have been a cold shower turned hot, and Abby took both personal and medical note of his sensitive skin.

He opened the exact drawer she’d just been snooping through and pulled out a black t-shirt with cities listed on the back, and a simple band name with white lettered font on the front slightly faded.

“Guard this with your life,” he handed it over to her, “it’s my favorite,” and she chuckled snagging the soft shirt from his hand.

“I’ll just change over there,” she pointed to the bedroom, leaving him to change in the closet. She tried her best not to think about his naked body only a number of feet away from her. Or the way his hair shagged down his face when wet, or the way he had to be doing all of this on purpose. _He could've changed in the shower the bastard_ , Abby shook her head.

She was giving Marcus way too much credit, because he wasn’t doing anything on purpose.

Abby threw his shirt over her body, and with talent slipped her tank top off and through the large hole for her head, tossing it down on top of her bag. His shirt hung loosely on her frame, and went past her shorts, at her mid-thigh. But holy hell, it was the comfiest shirt she’d ever tried on. Abby felt her body enter a state of comfort that she hadn’t felt in a long time. After a long day her breasts were relieved from her bra, her hair from it’s half up clip, and her feet from her heels. She was clean and warm, and in Marcus Kanes _God damn_ bedroom.

He walked out shaking his head like a dog into his towel, wearing a grey t-shirt and black cotton pajama pants. Upon looking up at her, the words slipped from his lips before he could swallow them back.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he mumbled the towel slipping from his hands onto the floor.

“Marcus,” Abby laughed not even the slightest offended, because he had turned and thrown his hands to the back of his head, sighing loudly.

“Give me a moment,” he told her, and her giggles only increased.

“What about that drink?” she smiled walking over to the door.

“Yeah,” Marcus nodded, “yeah, that sounds good.”

He followed her hopelessly, and unashamedly watching her tiny body drown in the most seductive way in his shirt. Abby reached for the doorknob of the study, and opened it to yet another astonishing room. This one however had a more old time feel than the rest. A large wooden desk, with a green lamp that looked like it belonged in a college library, shelves along the walls with books overflowing onto piles on the floor, a dark red sofa with a coffee table, and to her delight a record player in the corner of the room.

“I love it,” Abby said as she walked in confidently, the earlier nerves slipping off her bones.

“My sanctuary to be honest,” he told her as he walked over to pull open a desk drawer and took out a bottle of whiskey, and two crystal glasses. Abby roamed over to his record player, and saw the last vinyl he’d been playing was Frank Sinatra. She lingered over the vinyls nearby seeing names like Ella Fitzgerald, Johnny Cash, Dean Martin, and Edith Piaf.

“You old soul,” Abby told him, “Clarke loves records, but she gets new artists on vinyl, and her record player is also a Bluetooth speaker. But, still.”

Marcus appears at her side, “I heard you’re more of a _take me home tonight_ kind of gal,” he teased handing her the neat drink.

He watches as she bypasses the comment with a mere roll of her eyes, and smells the glass in front of her. It’s smokey and familiar, and tastes damn good.  

“I have a Goo Goo Dolls vinyl if you’re interested,” he continues.

Abby’s head whips over to him with a furrowed brow, “And what makes you think I’d like the Goo Goo Dolls and _not_ Frank Sinatra?”

“I never said that love,” he laughs leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Also Eddie Money and the Goo Goo Dolls are more than ten years apart, so if you’re going to make fun of me at least get your time frame right,” she backfires and then smirks, “ _love_.”

Marcus laughs wholeheartedly throwing his head back, “Do you like Sinatra?” he asks curiously a hand coming to lay on the small of her back.

Abby’s lips purse and she doesn’t face him when she says, “I mean I _don’t not like_ Frank Sinatra,” before she takes another sip of her drink.

Marcus conceals his smirk as best he can by mimicking her and drinking his whiskey as well before heading over to sit on the couch. Abby follows, sitting beside him, curling her legs up, and her left elbow is on the back of the couch balancing her head on her left palm. Marcus sits normally, his legs a little spread out, his shoulder against the couch, and his neck lulling backwards on the cushions.

“This reminds me of the night we met,” Abby speaks softly, “except I’m not nearly as tipsy as I was then.”

Marcus’s eyes flutter closed and a smile graces his face at the thought of the memory, “I remember seeing you sitting peacefully, glowing. I didn’t stop to think about the stupid belt guarding the room, I just had to get to you. Hence my graceful fall.”

Abby laughs softly, “quite the impression.”

“I wasn’t drunk but I wasn’t sober, and you picked me up,” Marcus murmured lifting his glass back up to finish his drink, “who would’ve thought it’d be the allegory to our relationship.”

“Marcus,” Abby stated gravely, unsure of his tone.

“I’m not saying that in a patronizing way Abby,” he turns to her then, and she falls still as his dark eyes pierce hers, “it’s just … true.”

She watches as he gets up and heads over to the desk, pouring himself another drink.

“We said just one,” Abby warns him from the couch.

“We’ve handled more than two drinks Abby,” he states capping the bottle, “have a little faith.”

“ _Two drinks_ ,” Abby says definitively, getting up to refill her glass.

“Absolutely,” Marcus smiles.

Three and a half drinks later, they’re talking about their time in university. Abby talks about the debate team, her favorite professors, her favorite class which ended up being Victorian Novels, funny deadline stories, and awful roommate occurrences. Marcus briefly mentions his fraternity, his favorite professors, his favorite class which surprised Abby by being Philosophy, and tells pranks the boys played on each other. He skips over the booze, and parties, and blackouts, and fucking.

“What’d you graduate?” Abby asks, her body now firmly curled up into Marcus’s side.

“That doesn’t matter,” Marcus shook his head bashfully.

“It does to me,” she says softly.

“Summa,” he whispers leaning his forehead down to touch hers, “you superficial doctor. Would I have passed your first round of job applicants?” he teases, his lips grazing her upper lip.

“Oh for sure,” Abby tosses out, “forget that you never stepping foot in a medical school.”

Marcus sets his glass down on the coffee table amused, and then pulls Abby into his arms. She picks up her legs to lay over his and holds her drink in her lap. He’s staring down at her face in the warm lighting of his lamps, and tugs her waist closer until all that’s not on his thighs is her butt. Slowly he leans in to caress her lips with his own, and it’s so gentle that Abby remembers that this is what it’s like to kiss him every single time. Her fingers weave into his hair, but the kiss never intensifies, it never gets sloppy and heated. They enjoy the taste of their tongues, and the feel of their teeth gently skimming their lips. They make out for what doesn’t seem long enough, until they have to break away for air.

“I won’t ever get tired of doing that,” Marcus comments, moving strands of hair away from Abby’s face. His hands roam up and down her bare legs in ministrations, grazing the bottom of her shorts each time. Abby lays her head in the crook of his shoulder, letting her eyelids fall, enjoying the peaceful hum of his AC unit.

“Let’s imagine that we went to college together,” Abby muses, her fingers rimming around the edge of her glass. She can feel Marcus tense beside her.

“You wouldn’t like me in college,” he tells her honestly, “I was arrogant and a complete dick.”

“Marcus,” she begins, but he quickly cuts her off.

“I’ll tell you how it would have gone. I would’ve seen you at the library. _Not_ the on-campus cafe because it would be much too loud for you in there, and you would’ve seen me walk in and rolled your eyes. Hating my guts because I hate college Marcus’s guts.”

“We’re all entitled to our highly frowned upon things Marcus,” she leaned over to place her glass on the floor. Then her arms wrapped around his body, feeling his warmth radiate through her. He stayed quiet as she began toying with the sleeves of his t-shirt, “I slept with my professor.”

Marcus can’t help but shockingly pull her away enough to look down into her eyes with wide surprise, “Abigail Griffin did you just say what I think you said?”

Her face doesn’t even blush as she nods, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Wait let me guess,” he says, “it was your Victorian Novels professor wasn’t it?”

He throws his head back unbelieving when she nods, hiding her face in his chest now.

“Here I thought I knew everything,” Marcus ticks his tongue against the top of his mouth.

Abby finally musters enough courage to look back at him, “He wasn’t _super_ old okay, not that it matters. I was twenty, a complete legal age and boys my age then were idiots.”

“Would he quote Tennyson to you?” Marcus teases.

“No,” she laughed and then whispered, “Keats.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Marcus groaned, “Keats? I can see why twenty-year-old Abby was fawning.”

He doesn’t miss the shoves to his side as she tells him, “Make fun of me all you want.” She continues to tickle his ribs, and he dodges the swat to his head.

“What? I didn’t-” he laughs unable to finish his sentence before he lifts Abby off his lap, and tosses her down on the sofa, crawling up her body. “I’m not making fun of you,” he chuckles, pinning her hands above her head to stop her playful hits. He doesn’t think about her bare skin only a layer of pajama pants away.

“Yes you are,” she huffs, even though a grin is still plastered on her face.

Marcus leans down to brush their noses, and ghost his lips over hers, “ _If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever._ ” Then his mouth crashes on hers, and Abby feels the all too familiar warmth spread throughout her body. He moves away before she’s able to properly react and murmurs, “Tennyson.”

“Now I’m imagining a young Marcus reading romantic poetry,” Abby says quietly.

“And?” he asks, his eyes falling to her lips.

“And it’s really turning me on,” she tells him before pushing him back, and moving to straddle his waist.

Abby hovers over him, her elbows digging into his shoulders, as her fingers play loosely with each other behind his head. His arms dangle on his sides, as he looks up at her through drunken lids. Her nose graces his forehead before her lips follow, kissing the wrinkles in between his eyebrows. She makes a path from his temple to his ear with small long pecks, and whispers, “tell me another.”

Marcus watches as her golden hair creates a curtain around their faces, and a waft of coconut drifts down to him. Finally he’s able to move his hands to grip her waist, massaging the the skin of her lower back, and fingering the elastic of her shorts. “ _Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?”_ he whispers as his mouth covers the dip between her clavicle and shoulder.

“Mm, continue,” she mumbles, a lazy smile crossing her face. His beard rubs against her throat, and she leans her neck back to give him better access.

“ _Hope,_ ” he begins in a low tone, his words vibrating against her skin, “ _smiles on the threshold of the year to come, whispering that it will be happier.”_

Abby feels his palms run up and down her thighs, itching at her shirt. She feels _him_ underneath her, as she slowly rubs her body up and down his lap creating more heat between them. His lips move up her jawline, and he tugs her earlobe with his front teeth before stating, “Abby?”

“Hmm,” she answers half-heartedly, focused on the sensitivity caused by the roughness of his beard.

“I’m out of fucking poems,” he growls as his fingers roughly thread in the back of her head, and he pulls her forward, swallowing her laugh with a kiss. Abby fiercely tugs at his arms to cradle her body above him, and moans when he bites her bottom lip roughly.

“We can’t,” she speaks between kisses, “we can’t do this while,” he tries to quiet her but she kisses him and continues murmuring against his lips, “while the girls are downstairs.”

“I know,” Marcus runs his hands up her back, feeling every ridge of her spine, and the bones of her shoulder blades, “but you feel so damn good.”

Abby looks down and sees the same darkness of desire in his eyes from that night in his office. She can hear her chest breathing, and feels her lungs collapse and expand in exaggeration. She knows she should step off him. They should instead go watch a movie in his room and fall asleep. But she doesn’t want to do that. She wants to enjoy him, because God damn it they’re alone (for the most part) and she _can_.

So before her mind controls her body, she reaches down to the bottom of his t-shirt, and grabs a fist full of the cotton in her hands, “Well we can do other things,” Abby states before pulling it up and over her head. She tosses the garment next to them and her eyes roam over his face, as he stares up at her with lust dripping from his lips and awe from his eyes. His eyes rake down her bare breasts and naked torso.

“Beautiful,” Marcus whispers as his hands roam over her flat stomach, and up the valley of her chest.

Abby climbs off his lap and stands at full height in front of him. She never breaks eye contact, as her fingers find the top of her shorts and she slowly pulls them down her legs, until they fall and she kicks them off to the side. Abby feels like she should feel nervous while standing practically naked in front of Marcus, in his study nonetheless, only wearing her nylon ruby panties. But the bulge in his pajama pants, and the way he throws his head back, running his hands down his face while muttering cuss words makes her feel wanted.

She stands still, looking down at him with a knowing smirk on her face, feeling very in control of the situation. He pushes his body to sit on the edge of the sofa, opening his legs to bring Abby between them. She’s so petite that her bust and upper abdomen align with Marcus’s face perfectly. His hands cup the back of her thighs, running his finger under her ass. He leans forward to lay open mouth kisses on her stomach and moves lower, just above the start of her underwear, loving the way her hip bones protrude delicately.

“Take off your shirt,” Abby tells him, and he looks up at her ardently, shrugging his t-shirt off and tossing it with hers on the sofa. Before she can speak another word, he roughly pulls her further towards him, causing her to stumble and lift one knee to balance on the couch in between his legs. He wastes no more time and lifts his arms to palm both breasts in his hands, loving the way they fill them entirely. His mouth closes over one, and Abby responds by throwing her head back, the ancient feeling of heat and tongue on one of her most sensitive areas making her legs wobbly.

Abby tugs the ends of his mane, as she bites down hard on her lip, trying to quiet the noises she wishes so badly would escape her mouth. Marcus runs his tongue in circles over her nipple, before moving up to bite down softly on the skin of her breasts. Abby yelps, and immediately covers her mouth with her palm. She wants to smack him when he chuckles against her skin, switching to the other, but can’t find it in her. His left hand massages the unaccompanied breast, while his right makes patterns up and down her spine and to her ass.

Her skin is supple and soft underneath his tongue, and she tastes like his mint and salt body scrub. No woman has ever felt so good against him, and Abby was barely even brushing his skin. Marcus sucked on her right breast, letting it go with a small pop and stood on his feet. He towered over her and Abby wasted no time kissing his chest, and dipping her fingers into the dimples above his butt.

His fingers weaved through hair and cradled her head gently in his palm, looking down as her mouth kissed every spot she could. He felt her breasts rub against his abs, and couldn't help the shaky breath that left his mouth as her hand felt his hard-on through his pants.

“These are coming off,” Abby told him, and he only processed half a nod before her hands pulled down his pajamas, letting them hit the floor without a sound. Marcus kicked them to the side, and almost jumped when Abby’s cold hand slipped in his underwear and gripped his cock.

“Jesus Abby,” Marcus whispered, as her hand began moving up and down his thick shaft.

“Kiss me,” she whispered back, lifting her chin up to meet his look.

Marcus leaned down and met her lips in hunger, grunting as her thumb swirled around the tip of his dick. Abby reached on her tiptoes, pulling his neck down further with her other hand, and tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. Their tongues played with each other until there was no taste of Abby, or taste of Marcus, just the taste of _them_.

Slowly Abby began bending her knees, and Marcus pulled her up with one arm around her waist and one around the back of her neck.

“No,” he murmured, “let’s not do that yet,” Marcus said kissing her.

“Why not?” Abby placed her hands on his chest pulling away to look up at him curiously.

Marcus’s head fell as he quietly answered, “I want to be in you when I …” his voice fades.

Abby smiles genuinely at this before replying softly, “Okay.”

He puts both palms on either side of her face and kisses her before pulling back and laughing, “Fuck we shouldn't have started this.”

Abby slides her hands over his butt before saying, “I know I made a mistake.”

“No I like doing this stuff,” Marcus tells her honestly, his chest turning a deep crimson.

Abby stretches her neck side to side contemplating her next move, “I mean we would just have to be really quiet because your air vent-”

“Oh, fuck that,” Marcus says in a huff, “I want to hear you. We can have secret sex later on in life.”

It's Abby’s turn to blush as they simply hold each other in his dim study.

Only a few minutes later, they’re both dressed in their pj’s -- well a toned down version of what they were wearing previously. Abby’s lost her shorts, and Marcus is in only his boxer briefs. They walk over to his large bed, and together they begin throwing off the decorative pillows, and pulling back the large comforter. There’s no question of whether she wants to sleep alone, or offering of him taking the couch in his study. They want this, and they both know it indefinitely. He turns on the lamp near his bedside, and walks over to turn off the main overhead light. What they’re left in, is a dull yellow glow, and a really really cold room.

Abby is quick to snuggle her way into his bed sheets, intoxicated by the scent his body wash leaves every night in the soft billion thread count blankets. She’s sure it’s not a billion, but it feels like a billion. She watches as he turns from the light switches and stops to find her, head elevated by his plump feather pillows, covered up to her shoulders with his fluffy comforter, smiling sleepily at him.

Marcus Kane had seen many women in his bed before. Not _this_ bed to be exact. No, no female had touched this bed except for Octavia. He made that his number one rule when moving to Arkadia. So to see Abby patting the spot next to her, _his spot_ , barely filling in the large empty space he left vacant for ghosts, and what ifs, and impossibilities in his mind. He felt like the vision of Abby would disappear, and he’d wake up in the midst of a hotel room, reeking of alcohol, and peeling himself from another body.

But she was real, and she was tired, and she was now throwing a small decorative pillow she’d missed at his head to hurry up because she was _freezing_.

It was only when half his body was covered, and he sat stiffly looking down at her, with her cheek resting against the inside of her bent arm, that Abby realized she might have overestimated the intimacy levels of Marcus.

“I don’t bite,” she murmured.

He couldn’t help but scoff jokingly at that, “I wouldn’t believe you a hundred percent.”

Abby laughed sleepily, her eyes fluttering closed and then barely opening to look up at him, “Well I don’t bite _hard_.”

“I somehow believe that less,” he chuckled and reached over to turn off the lamp with a simple tap on the top of it.

They were covered immediately by the darkest shade of black Abby had ever witnessed. She could no longer make out his frame amongst the shadows, she blinked several times, begging her eyes to adjust to the lightless room. Marcus was met with the same level of blindness, although he was used to it, having made sure to electronically tint his windows when buying the house. He hardly got sleep as it is, so he tried to enhance the times he did.

As he slid down the bed, feeling his pillow hit right at the start of his neck, he sighed. His fingers interlaced with each other atop his stomach, and his feet crossed one over the other. He felt her heat only a few inches from his left side, her breath shallowing as every second passed on. He asked himself whether he was supposed to lay like this the entire night, and became frightened at the idea. He moved _a lot_ before finally falling into a deep sleep, but the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her. Marcus tapped his fingers against the nerves on the top of his hands, every so often switching to running patterns through his knuckles. Suddenly, her hand reached over and stilled his movements.

“Sorry,” he whispered, because that’s what happens to our voices when the lights go low.

“Are you not sleepy?” she asks quietly.

Marcus smiles sadly into the night, “It’s never that I’m _not_ sleepy or tired, I just have a hard time actually sleeping.”

The picture of pills flash through Abby’s mind, and she pushes it away, knowing she should not have opened that cabinet, to begin with. Marcus feels her move, and looks to find she’s given him her back.

“I have many medical reasons to justify this,” she says reaching back for his right arm to lay on her hip, “but only one selfish reason, and I choose that one.”

Marcus gulps, as she tugs on his arm, turning him on his side. His chest bumps against her back, and his left arm curls under his face, as his nose forcefully dives into her hair. Their bodies become a nice warm, and Marcus just about loses it when Abby rubs her feet up and down his shins and calves, while simultaneously tangling their legs.

“You smell good,” he mumbles as the heaviness finds his eyelids, making them droop much quicker than any pill he’d ever taken in his life.

Abby feels his breath against her neck, and coils his arm tighter around her waist. He curls around her body so easily, and she can sense the stress leaving his body with every exhale and inhale of his chest.

The darkness alludes something in her. It may be strength or fearlessness, but it provokes her to say what needs to be said in order for them to continue moving forward.

“Octavia told me about Vera and Callie,” she whispers, looking out into his bedroom.

Abby can’t see his eyes open, and his mind in vain trying to control his body from not spazzing out right behind her. Marcus grips her hips a little tougher, pulling her in tighter, as if he’ll lose her, and then releases her before pushing himself to sit on the edge of his bed with his head between his knees. A cold wind meets his back, before Abby’s hands are quick to run up and down his shoulders. He doesn’t shrug her off, he instead reaches for her hands, and pulls them to hold him over his shoulders. Her chest meets his back, and she lays a soft kiss on the side of his jaw.

“She didn’t tell you about _our_ story, our _full_ story?” Marcus asks lowly.

“As in yours and Octavias?” Abby follows up.

“Yes,” he affirms, turning around to sit back against his headboard, hoping Abby will sit next to him through the times of his life he’s felt more like a monster than any other moment before. Instead, Abby pats the inside of his knees, signaling him to open his legs. He does, and Abby makes her way to sit between them, resting her back against his chest, and moving her hair to fall down her right shoulder. She pulls his arms to hold her, and Marcus runs his thumbs up and down her elbow. They both stare forward, accepting the pitch black cover as a Godsend to give them the safe setting to tell deep thoughts and dark secrets.

“Tell me,” Abby breathes in deeply.

“Okay,” he whispers shutting his eyes, preparing himself for the possibility of her permanent departure.

* * *

**_The First Year_ **

It’s cold, in fact freezing. Marcus can’t feel his toes, until equally cold feet reach out and scrape the back of his calves. It reeks of rubber, and overnight cigarettes. The buds long left to die, without a trace of smoke fuming from the rolled up papers ends. Instead the scent has cemented itself on his black sheets, and tangled itself in his hair. Her skin is soft, but her arm heavy, as it drapes over his bare chest. Her fingers toy with the thin hair between his pectorals, and he quickly clenches them in his hand, before smoothly sliding her body on her back in order to detach himself from the limbs she tied around him.

The clock tells him it’s five in the morning, and she wasn’t supposed to stay past three. They never are. But they feign exhaustion, usually complimenting him in the process, and all he has the strength to do is stay silent. As they tell him everything. The music he left on continues its lull, and a text tells him that Sarah got home safely because his card was charged at half past one in the morning.

Sarah, the babysitter, was a graduate student at the nearby college. She for one, didn’t care about the several different women she saw when he got home drunk, and she entered a car to drive her home. He paid her enough not to care. He paid her enough to pay rent in stupid California. So every Friday night, Sarah played with Octavia, fed her, read her a story, and put her to bed by nine o’clock. Reminding Octavia not to get up until her father came for her.

But on this particular morning, as Marcus pulled up his underwear, and contemplated the best way to wake up the naked woman sprawled underneath his sheets; a small figure with a teddy bear in hand opened his bedroom door without caution, and without warning. Her hair was knotted and twisted from tossing and turning all night. She wore a long loose lilac shirt and her pajama pants were starting to fit her short.

“I’m hungry,” she rubbed her eyes before scrunching her nose, “it smells funny in here.”

Marcus hastily turned to see the small child yawning. Her squeaky voice stirred the woman in the bed, until she turned and opened her own eyes to Octavia. The guest yelped, and covered her nude body as much she could with the thin comforter.

“Octavia!” he growled and ran over to grab her forearm before dragging her out of the miry room. Octavia tried in vain to pull her skinny arm from his tight hold, but couldn’t even maneuver it from his iron grip. Marcus pulled them both in her room, shutting the door, and then sat her on the edge of her twin bed. “What’s our rule, Octavia?!” Marcus asks harshly. He’s holding her shaking hands in her lap, and her little lip begins to quiver. “We have one rule Octavia, what is it?” he asks her again, looking through her watery colored eyes. “On Saturday mornings do we have a rule?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes we do.” he raises his voice, and her shoulders start to tremble, “Are you allowed in my room on Saturday mornings Octavia?”

Her eyes dart around her white walls and she tries to pull her hands from his hold, “Octavia, are you allowed in my room on Saturday mornings?”

“No,” she tells him defiantly.

“No,” he repeats letting go of her hands within his, and then points in the direction of the door, “so why were you in there Octavia?”

“I forgot,” she cries.

“We have one rule and you broke it,” he fired at her, but before he can continue someone knocks on the door gently, and the woman from his bed peeks her head in.

“I’m just going to head out,” she nervously runs a finger through her messy hair, “I think it best you don’t call me Marcus.” And not that he was planning on it, but her embarrassed demeanor makes him flush with anger. She nods one more time, avoiding all eye contact with Octavia, before turning and leaving. They hear the apartment door shut, and Marcus springs to his toes turning his yells into muffled screams, as he rages into his hands.

“I just want five minutes of my own life!” he hisses, and Octavia makes a dash for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. His chest feels heavy, as he falls back on his knees, unable to escape the vast range of emotions that overcome him. He tells himself he’s incapable of ever being a good father. Too far down the road of hopeless selfishness and greed.

She stays in the bathroom until noon, when his knocks have stopped, and he’s reduced his actions to sitting outside the door waiting for her to come out. The doorknob creaks as she pulls on it. Marcus catches a glimpse of her face, stained with tears, and pink from stress. His heart breaks, and he feels ashamed of himself. Octavia stands in front of his lean build on the floor, and he reaches to hold her hands.

“What happened this morning was not your fault,” he brought their heads closer together, “I got mad at you, when really I was angry at myself. I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

Octavia nods, accepting his apology.

* * *

 

**_Fifthteen Months_ **

Sarah has caught the flu, and even when Marcus says it’s all right, she refuses to babysit Octavia under the weather. Tonight wasn’t any typical Friday night; it was the night Marcus was going to be giving a conference talk with his other colleague at the business campus. Where they would unveil the latest projects and updates of the company technology. He has no one else, so he dresses Octavia in a denim dress with embroidered blue butterflies, white sandals, and loads her into the back of his car. He forgot to pack a coloring book or even her small gaming device. So, when he sat her down in an empty seat of the auditorium, telling her not to leave until he came back for her, she was utterly and completely bored.

Marcus and his partner successfully earned a loud applause at the end of their presentation, and Octavia was happy that now they got to go home. Except they didn’t. He had a line of people wanting to ask him questions and in general just meet him. So she sat, and waited, until she could no longer twist her hair around her finger emulating joy.

Marcus felt a tug on his suit jacket, mid-conversation, and looked down to find Octavia grumbling, “I’m bored, can we go home?”

His company awkwardly looked down at the young girl, confused by her presence at an adult event. Octavia might have been the only child within ten miles of that location.

“Just wait Octavia,” he leaned down to whisper to her.

“No,” she shook her head back and forth, “I want to leave _now!_ ” she stomped her foot. This action led to the group of people around them nervously backing away, and telling Marcus they’d catch up on Monday.

“Octavia just a couple of more minutes, we’ll leave-“

“ _Now!_ ” she screamed. This drew unwanted attention from the entire auditorium, and he quickly picked her up and rushed them out the back exit. As the outside air hit their face, he set her down and she defensively crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Octavia,” he stated sternly, “under no circumstances do _ever_ pull a stunt like that again!”

“You weren’t listening to me!” she cried and shoved his legs, “You never listen to me!”

“I am trying my best!” he yelled back at her, regretting the loud verbatim of his voice as she coiled back.

But then she released her arms from their position and shoved his shoulders back, “Well try harder!” she yelled.

And he tried. He tried, and failed. He tried again, and failed again. Until he no longer believed he could be the proper father Octavia needed. He missed school functions like dad lunch-ins and seasonal festivals. He never kept track of items she was supposed to provide for holiday parties, or bring to show and tell, and bake sales. He forgot to sign both permission slips to attend a field trip to the zoo and one to the aquarium, of which she had to stay behind and read in the library all day. Marcus was tired of failing. So he decided to do the only thing that felt remotely like the right thing.

* * *

 

**_Two Years_ **

He tried to hold down the knot in his chest, as he watched her play with her teddy bear through his rearview mirror. The plane ride was the easy part, she loved flying, and he felt tears sting his eyes as he remembered the look of awe on her face. His GPS told him to take a right at the next light, and then a left into the subdivision. He pulled up to a small green house, with a wooden porch, and beaten up tire swing hanging from the large tree, of which did not make him feel any better.

Marcus parked the car behind the old metal white truck, and turned it off. The silence slicing him open over and over again.

“Where are we?” she asked already unbuckling her seatbelt.

Marcus didn’t provide an answer as he stepped out of the car, and walked to open the trunk. He pulled out her large sized luggage, with as much of her favorite clothes as they could fit, and a duffle bag with her favorite items to play with. His jaw clenched as he saw another man, with curly black hair that matched Bellamy’s, approach him. Marcus heard Octavia push open her door, and he sternly told her to stay in the car until he went to get her. She reluctantly shut it back closed.

Marcus weakly handed over Octavia’s bags to the man, “Everything like we discussed. She and Bellamy attend ArkBay prep, if she needs a tutor you hire one, if she wants to join organizations you pay for all equipment, you take her where she needs to be, and you make sure she eats more than cereal and chicken nuggets. I hear of anything less, I will not deposit the money into your account every two weeks. Got that?”

“She’ll have Bellamy,” the other man grumbles after nodding.

Marcus runs a hand over his face, “I know.”

The man pats Marcus’s shoulder before joining his wife who has made an appearance on the porch. She quietly stands beside her husband, as they watch Marcus nervously walk over to the back door. He opens it, and immediately Octavia jumps out. Her teddy bear swings to hit his legs, and he had to reach out a hand to stop her before she ran up the steps of the small house unknowing of their purpose at the mysterious place.

“Hey slow down,” he leans down to murmur, and holds her thin frame in between his large hands. She rolls her eyes and pulls the bears’ loose arms in between her fingers. “You’re a good daughter Octavia,” he softly tells her, fighting the tears stinging his eyes, as she looks up at him with wide blind orbs.

“And you’re a good dad,” she affirms him quickly, pulling away to run off into the adventure she is unknowing of. But Marcus holds her in place, fighting her fidgets.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says to her, “I can’t keep failing you.”

The tone of his voice, as it cracks underneath his smooth face, clean-shaven for work, makes her begin to worry. Her eyes float to the man and woman holding her bags, and suddenly Octavia feels that something is awfully wrong.

“Why do they have my things?” she asks him nervously.

“You’re going to be staying with Bellamy and his parents for now okay,” he answers her, and she begins shaking her head side to side violently.

“But I don’t want to stay with them, I want to stay with you,” she tells him in a gentle tone.

“You can’t Octavia,” he sighs as his knees tremble beneath him, “you are going to live with them now.”

“Why?” her face begins to crumple up in pain, “You’re my dad.”

“I know,” Marcus nods solemnly, “I’m just … I’m not good at being your dad Octavia.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he growls at her and her body jumps back, “You’ll understand when you’re an adult Octavia, you’ll see that I’m doing all of this for you.”

Octavia shoves him, “No, I want to go home!”

“Bellamy will be here when he gets home from school,” Marcus tries to tell her, but she continuously tries to push and wiggle her way through his arms and to the back seat of the car.

“I don’t care, Bellamy can visit us like he always does,” she tells him, trying with all her might to get past his strong arms.

“Octavia stop,” he tugs on her to stand still, but she fights him, “Octavia stop!”

She begins crying on his shoulder, and Marcus can’t help but hold his tears back as he picks her up and begins carrying her to the front steps of the home. Octavia sobs as she kicks her legs in every direction, trying to unleash herself from his hold on her. He sets her down on the second step, at eye level with him, and holds her shoulders tightly between his palms.

“I will visit you on holidays Octavia, I promise,” he murmurs as her sobs turn hysterical, “I love you.”

“No,” she tugs at him as he begins to pull away, unable to handle the complete look of distraught on her face.

“In a few years, if you want,” Marcus tries to reason with her, “you can come back and live with me again.”

“I want to stay with you _now_ ,” Octavia shoves him, “you said you were trying!”

“I know I did,” Marcus voice shakes, as he attempts to wipe the tears streaming down her face.

“Then don’t leave me here!” she sobs and Marcus can no longer handle the pain he tried so hard to prepare for. “Don’t leave!” Octavia cries, and the mother comes quickly to hold Octavia back as Marcus kisses her forehead, telling her once again that he loves her so much. “Please, don’t leave me here!” she screams at him, kicking her feet up in the air, as tears stream down her face, while being held back.

Marcus rushes his way back to the driver side, not able to wave goodbye at Bellamy’s guardians.

“Daddy!” he hears her yell, “Daddy, please!”

Marcus covers his mouth, as a dry sob escapes his throat. When he peels his car out of the driveway, the sobs begin to wrack from his chest violently, and the tears follow graciously. He repeats to himself he’s doing the right thing. He repeats it to himself on the plane. He repeats it to himself on the drive back to his apartment. He lives with his decision, as the complete and utter silence of his apartment does the opposite of bring him peace.

* * *

 

**_Two Years and Three Months_ **

He pulls up to the driveway of her new home, a large present rumbling around his trunk. When he begins to unload the black Mongoose bike, Leanne makes her way down the front porch steps. Her face says all he needs to know.

“She still doesn’t want to talk to me,” he sighs, as he hands over her bike.

“I’m sorry Marcus,” she tells him honestly, and he believes her, even when her ears sparkle with new shiny earrings and she sports a new fancy watch on her left wrist.

“Merry Christmas Leanne,” he tells her and opens the door reaching in to grab Bellamy’s gift from the back seat.

“Merry Christmas Marcus,” she tells him holding the box under her arm and rolling the bike to the garage.

Marcus fights the urge to punch a dent in the rental car, as he slams the trunk. His eyes flash to the house, and he sees her, peeking her body through the curtains of the living room. He can barely make out the color of her eyes before she quickly walks away, leaving the white curtains to flow back and forth.

* * *

 

**_Two Years And Five Months_ **

He awakens to an empty bed, and for that he’s grateful. It’s Valentine’s Day, and he had only remembered when the young woman he was thrusting into last night decided to whisper it into his ear lovingly, hoping to garner some sentiment above their one-night stand. However, at this he simply sped up his movements, to finish quicker, and get her the hell out of his bedroom as soon as possible.

As he always did every morning, he avoided looking at the small bedroom across his, everything left untouched. Perhaps there were still some toys, books, or heck -- even leftover chips she snuck in like she always used to. But he never found the strength to open her bedroom door, unable to handle the white walls and lilac bed set.

Marcus put the coffee to run, and inserted two pieces of bread into the toaster. He found that the woman from last night had placed the mail that was usually thrown into the slot of his door, nicely on his kitchen counter. He felt bad for only half a second for running her off.

He went through his pile of mail, as the smell of coffee and burning toast filled his warm apartment. Marcus’s blood ran cold when he received a pink envelope with his name written in scrappy blue crayon, but the address scripted by a professional hand. Usually that of a teacher.

He heard his bread pop up, and the coffee pot stop stirring. His fingers gently ripped open the paper envelope, and out fell a handmade card made with red construction paper. On the front cover was a cut out heart in teal, and two stick figures, one _much_ taller than the other, holding hands. Marcus held his breath as he flipped open the card.

_Dear Dad_

_This is a time machine card. Miss. Andrew says you will read it a year from now, and I think that is crazy. I love you because you always take care of me. You always go into my closet when im scared to go and you got me a butterfly night light. I want you to live and never die. No matter anything in the world, I love you times infinity._

_Octavia_

Marcus believes in this moment in time, it was the second time he truly felt love. As the blood in his veins pulsed wildly and his throat tightened, barely allowing him the ability to breathe. He saw moments with Octavia flash in his head like a stupid movie montage. They were moments that weren’t particularly special. Her face trying a french fry dipped in a chocolate milkshake for the first time. Her running to his room in the middle of the night and burrowing under his blankets at his feet when a thunderstorm ran through the city. Her knocking over a lamp as she sprinted from wall to wall of the small living room asking him to count how many seconds it took her to finish. Her face when he left her on the steps of another home.  

Marcus looked up at the ceiling of his apartment, sending a silent affirmation to the God he both neglected and avoided. The ray of sunlight shined through the small window above the sink of the kitchen, and the aircon turned off. The only noise that could be heard was that of his breath. It occurred to Marcus that although he could continue living like a man without ties to anyone, he would hate himself every day forward -- just as he had since he gave up on himself and left Octavia with parents who would take care of her but not _love_ her. He realized then that he was never incapable of loving Octavia, for he did love her very much, and he was never incapable of truly loving another soul. But he had to learn to be selfless, in a world where he groomed himself to be indifferent to others and their advances towards him. Marcus had to learn not to treat others as a means to an end, but the means themselves. He had to let himself care, and give, and give, and give, and give. Even if that meant being disappointed at the ending.

There was no more time to act as if he could continue living the life he believed he wanted, when the life clearly in front of him was the life he deserved, but didn’t believe he deserved. And it would be almost eleven long years after this moment, until he was truly able to allow himself the comfort of leaving behind old remedies of destructive self pleasure, and live a life of true love. Where he gave to a woman who needed him to be his destined self. But it only took this one moment, staring down at the handwriting of his daughter, to put Octavia before himself, once and for all.

He was on the next flight to the Polis airport, and arrived in the bayou shortly after.

There is a cost to buying a round trip with one ticket arriving, and two tickets departing. And that cost is faith. Faith of which Marcus had in pennies. He pulled his rental car up to the curb of the home, to find her circling the driveway with the black bike he bought her, and Bellamy tossing his basketball against the board drilled into the top of the garage. Not an adult in sight.

He watched as she maneuvered around Bellamy, teasing him with a wide smile, until her eyes fell on the suspicious car watching them near the mailbox. As Marcus walked out of the car, shutting the door behind him, Octavia stopped on her bike to look at the father she missed terribly but who she was mad at even more.

Bellamy a little more oblivious to the man walking up the gray cement of their driveway, finally turned after shooting the ball, and failed to retrieve it as it bounced off the rim and landed in the plush grass of the yard.

“Octavia,” Marcus barely croaked out. But she pushed herself off the bike and ran to hide behind Bellamy. “Octavia,” he called again a little louder, but Bellamy protected his sister by shielding her from him.

Marcus walked up to the two children and bent down on one knee in front of Bellamy, who was trying his best to be the brave brother she needed.

“She’s _really_ mad at you,” he told him.

“I know Bellamy,” Marcus sighed, “and I’m sorry.”

Then Octavia emerged from behind Bellamy to stand beside him with her hands in fists, curled at her side. “No you’re not! And I’m not just mad, _I hate you!_ With all my heart, _I hate you!_ ”

Marcus bit his lip, as it quivered from her words. He tried to reach out to her, but she pushed him away. “You can hate me Octavia,” he told her, “but we’re going home. I’m taking you home.”

“No!” she yelled at his face, shoving away his hands.

“Yes, we are,” Marcus stated again.

“No!” she screamed and then ran in the direction of the house. Marcus was quick to follow her calling out her name, until he reached down to her small body and caught her in his arms. She turned and began hitting him, and pushing his body away as best she could. But he picked her up, holding her tight.

“Octavia stop!” he pleaded with her, taking each child strengthened blow she gave to him, “Please, stop!”

“You said you were trying and then you left me here!” she yelled at him, as her little hand hit his bare cheek leaving it red.

“I know,” he told her, “I know! I’m sorry Octavia. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake. I made a mistake.”

Octavia’s cries gave up, as he continued to hold her close to him. Until she gave up, hiccuping into his shoulder, and her small arms wrapping around his neck, as she weakly held onto him.

“Why’d you leave me there?” she asked through soft cries, Marcus held her head in his palm, clutching her small frame to his as if she’d slip through.

“Because I was selfish and scared and convinced I would be a bad father,” he told her honestly.

“But I told you,” she pulled back to hold his face in her tiny hands, “I told you that you were a good dad. Why didn’t you believe me?”

“I just saw every time I failed you,” he cried, as she wiped the tears streaming down his face, “but then I got your letter, and I saw each time I didn’t. I saw how much happiness we could have together, and how much you meant to me.”

“What letter?” Octavia asked through short breaths.

Marcus set her down, as he pulled out the construction made letter, now wrinkled at the edges.

“My time machine letter!” Octavia squealed.

Marcus nodded, as he gently placed it back in his pocket, before grabbing her hands within his, “I won’t fail you this time Octavia.”

He looked down at her, and she threw her arms around his neck, “Promise?”

Marcus lifted her into his arms again, holding her tight, “I promise, I love you.”

“I love you too dad.”

That day she packed her things back in her suitcase, not forgetting her teddy bear, and they went back to his old apartment. Marcus immediately called a real estate agent at both locations, and began his search for the house Octavia and him would live in for the years to come on the hillside of Arkadia. Bellamy spent every moment he could at their house, even if was quite a drive from his own. He continued to pay for ArkBay prep for both Bellamy and Octavia, and Bellamy’s parents were upset by the funds no longer being transferred every two weeks. However, for Bellamy, Marcus gave up Octavia’s half of Aurora’s life insurance and wrongfully they were not as upset.

Marcus only packed his favorite t-shirts from his old apartment, and together he and Octavia opened her old room. But they only took the one blue butterfly nightlight left exactly where she’d last seen it. He quit his job in California, and began his own company on his own terms in Polis. Separating his professional and personal life permanently, for the betterment of his daughter. He learned from his mistakes, and began what he believed to be a new life.

Every Valentine’s Day, he took Octavia out for dinner and he continued to put her first.

On the day of their move-in to their new home, he picked her up on the side of his hip and walked her through the entire house. Enjoying every time her eyes went wide and she gasped at the large space of her bedroom. Octavia had kissed his cheek, and pulled back with a scrunchy face, “scratchy.”

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“It’s … different,” she shrugged.

“Good different, or bad different?” he laughed.

“Good, I guess,” she smiled.

He never fully shaved again.

* * *

“And that’s it,” Marcus whispered finally, “that’s the story of us.”

He hadn’t realized how much he was crying until he shifted a bit, and felt some tears run down his bare chest. Then just as he barely realized his own feelings after telling the tale, his body began convulsing and he couldn’t stop the tears from running down his face as his shoulders trembled. Abby quickly turned in his arms, and he couldn’t see her own matching tears as she lifted herself from in between his legs, to his side and held him against her.

“Oh Marcus,” she murmured.

But he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t control himself. So Abby let him cry, and held him tight, until she couldn’t feel her arms anymore. She soothed him with soft touches and words of endearment, but he just clutched her like his life depended on it.

When he woke, his eyes hurt, but his body was the most relaxed it had ever been. He felt a hand on his heart as he laid on his side. He felt her body against him, holding him back against her chest, and their bent knees fitting each other like the perfect puzzle. Abby had held him throughout the night, and he could not have been more grateful.

“Good morning,” her voice vibrated against his spine.

Marcus turned over to face her, and they held each others hands in between their bodies.

“Good morning,” he repeated a small smile gracing his lips. The dim light shined in from the balcony doors. He lifted his fingers to move away stray hairs that fell in her face, and could not believe how beautiful she looked wrapped in his shirt, laying comfortably in his sheets, smiling back up at him. Marcus placed a small kiss on her forehead before saying, “thank you.”

And Abby knew why the affirmation was being said. For listening, accepting, and comforting him.

“I love you,” she murmured as she placed a similar kiss on the tip of his chin.

Marcus pulled her into his chest, “I love you too.”

It occurred to him that it would be very hard to get up when Abby fit so nicely in his arms. Their warmth threatened by the thought of pulling back the blankets and changing into today’s clothes. The clock on the mantel above the electric fireplace read ten o’clock and he had never slept so late since his undergraduate years.

Reluctantly they pulled a part, and began dressing in appropriate clothing. Abby, oddly had finished faster than he, but this was because at every chance he got, Marcus watched her lovingly. Whether it was pulling up her black denim pants, or applying her lip balm, he adored her.

Abby was the first to open Octavia’s room at ten forty-five that morning, and she was not surprised by the five girls, three on the bed, one on the couch, and one on an air mattress, looking absolutely dead to the world. There were wrappers, and empty bags of chips, pints of ice cream, and thrown clothes everywhere. But every phone was plugged in, making sure it would be maximally charged for the next day. All in all, a successful sleepover by the looks of it.

One by one, each friends parent showed up at the doorway, taking home their daughter still dressed in PJs, and sleep hair. They all thanked Abby and Marcus for watching the girls, of which Abby felt a little guilty because that stopped at midnight last night.

Octavia lazily had waved at each friend from her spot on her bed, until she was forced to get up at eleven thirty because her facetime date with Bellamy was scheduled for eleven forty-five sharp. So with fifteen minutes to spare she dragged herself to the kitchen, hopping up on barstools, laying her chin on her hands, and watched as her father and Abby worked like clockwork on what was now brunch.

She watched as Abby and Marcus fell into a rhythm. She would stick out her hand for the slices of bananas, and he’d place the plate with the fruit in her hand. She would fail to reach the plates at the top of the cupboard, and he’d move away from his station by the stove to grab them behind her. They hardly spoke a word to each other, and yet they knew exactly what they needed from the other. It was intoxicating to watch, and Octavia found herself forgetting about her call.

She watched her father smile wide when Abby let him taste a pancake that was a major fail shape wise. Laughing when he stated that he would be in charge of the mickey mouse framework. She watched as Marcus looked down at Abby, with _that_ look. Octavia was his number one girl, but Abby was quite possibly the love of his life, and it hit Octavia that he loved Abby so much he was becoming vulnerable.

Then she was brought back to real-time when her phone began ringing with the familiar tone. Both Abby and Marcus looked at each other with something behind their eyes, before Octavia answered it much too quickly.

Bellamy’s face filled the screen awkwardly to the edges, and he began with a loud “Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks Bell,” Octavia smiled, already leaping off her stool to begin her plan of showing him everything he was missing with her dad.

“Wait!” he stopped her as she began rambling how Abby was making banana pancakes and Marcus insisted they be shaped like Mickey Mouse, “I want you to go check outside to see if your present has gotten there.”

“My present?” Octavia rose her eyebrow, “You sent me a present?”

“Just go look O!” he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” she sighed and walked over to the front of the door, and she almost dropped her phone when her brother almost a foot taller than her stood on the steps. Before he could react, Octavia was squealing in delight, and jumped on him, hugging him until it hurt. It was leveling up to be a great birthday indeed.

* * *

**_Marcus’s Playlist (Because Why Not)*:_ **

_Wasting My Young Years - London Grammar_

_All The Pretty Girls - Kaleo_

_Slow It Down - The Lumineers_

_Strong - London Grammar_

_Save Yourself - Kaleo_

_Stubborn Love - The Lumineers_

_Big Picture - London Grammar_

_Way Down We Go - Kaleo_

 

_*I limited myself to three artists for each because -- time._


	15. Bellamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! Here are two new chapters to celebrate. I hope you enjoy them enough to overlook the time that's passed since my last update! (I'm quite intrigued to see what you guys think, and nervous.) Thank you always for reading and staying interested this far!

There was yelling. Yelling and screaming and yelping and squealing. And that’s what it meant when you had a brother and sister who hadn’t seen each other for months now reuniting. Octavia hanged off Bellamy in every possible way until she had properly climbed on his back, and he zoomed them through the house like he used to when they were small. Finally, he set her down on the marble of the kitchen island. 

The loudness had quickly died after Bellamy and Marcus shared a tight embrace. Abby began to feel a tad intimidated as the young man she’d only seen through photos stood in front of her. He was _barely_ shorter than Marcus, probably an inch, but his thick curly black hair leveled them. His build was large, his skin tan, and Abby immediately noticed a few healed scars on his forearms. He was sporting a dark red check dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, faded black jeans, and cool athleisure tennis shoes. Bellamy didn’t wait for his surrogate father to introduce them, when she couldn't find the words to introduce herself. 

Instead, he stuck out his hand with a shy smile and said, “You must be _the_ Abby.” 

Abby smiled and shook his hand, they were rough from training, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“The feeling is very mutual,” he laughed looking over at Marcus with a playful glint in his eye, “I get him on the phone maybe twice a month and all he talks about is -” 

“And that’s enough of that,” Marcus immediately cries out -- his eyes wide and his hands covering Bellamy’s mouth from behind. It turns into an awkward choke hold that brings Bellamy’s head down to his chest, and his knuckles rub the top of the young mans head of curls.

Bellamy laughs pulling away from Marcus’s hold, and brings his father’s face within his hands, “Holy shit she got rid of the dark circles under your eyes.” 

Marcus scoffs and slaps his hands away. 

“He’s gained weight too,” Octavia chimes in giggling. 

Marcus turns swiftly to face her, “What do you mean I’ve gained weight?” 

Bellamy begins walking slowly around Marcus, looking at him up and down, nodding in confirmation. 

“Like a good, I’m comfortable and in love kind of weight dad, don’t worry about it,” Octavia waves her hand off, “It’s super normal in healthy relationships. Right Abby?” 

“You’ve put on love pounds,” Bellamy chuckles, enjoying this way too much. 

“Abby tell him it’s a real thing,” Octavia says again. 

“I have _not_ put on weight,” Marcus grumbles, “and stop staring at me!” he tells Bellamy. 

“I like this,” Abby laughs at the interaction before her, “I can get used to this.” 

“Have I really put on weight?” Marcus asks her with gullible eyes. 

“I haven’t noticed,” she shakes her head, putting her hands up as if surrendering. 

“‘Cause you’re in love too,” Octavia rolls her eyes, “we’ll ask Clarke later.” 

“We are not talking about _my_ weight at dinner,” Abby scoffs. 

“Oh we are definitely asking Clarke! If _I_ had to endure this little roasting, it’s only fair that you do as well,” Marcus argues, as Bellamy begins poking the side of his father’s stomach just to piss him off some more. 

“Bellamy I will tell every embarrassing story I have of you if you do not stop that right now,” Marcus swats his hands away, and Bellamy reluctantly halts his fingers. 

“SO does this mean Bellamy was my gift?” Octavia states loudly, bringing the attention back to where it was needed -- her birthday. “Because I’m grateful, but like c’mon guys, cough it up already if it isn’t him.”

They watch as she raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms in front of her chest, waiting for a gift to be presented on her lap.

Bellamy feigns a blank face, “Wow O ... I’m not a good enough birthday gift? Do you know how much leadership I had to ask to request leave this weekend? Do you know how many exams I had to take earlier than necessary? How many papers I had to finish?” 

Octavia’s face falls and she begins to prepare an apology. 

“Bellamy’s messing with you Octavia,” her dad says before she can spit out words. 

“You’re a jerk!” she groans, kicking him in the chest, but Bellamy catches her leg and begins to twist it lightly, “NO NOT MERCY!” she begs. 

“My children are five years old,” Marcus runs a hand over his face. He feels Abby grab his bicep while curling up into his side. 

“I love them,” she whispers, practically mesmerized by the duo. 

Marcus’s breath halts as he looks down at her, realizing she may not have noticed what slipped from her lips. It was one thing to love him. But to love Octavia and Bellamy, made his insides melt completely. 

“Mercy!” Octavia squeals as her brother lets go of her leg with a triumphed smile. 

Marcus stretches his arm to wrap around Abby’s shoulder, and pulls her into his side, kissing her temple. In this moment he felt complete and utter fulfillment. For a man who was deemed never satisfied, he couldn’t have been more the opposite right now.

* * *

The sun is hiding behind thin clouds when they step outside. Bellamy dangles the keys of his small gray Honda in front of Octavia’s eyes. 

“Your best bet is connecting your phone to the aux cord, _not_ the Bluetooth because it can act funky sometimes. If the car won’t start, make sure your tires are straight, and then try turning the keys again. Don’t forget to put on the manual brake if you’re parking up a hill, or it will slide down. But other than that, she’s a beauty.” 

“No freaking way,” Octavia said, her eyes wide with disbelief, “ _no freaking way!_ ” she cheers again, snatching the keys from Bellamy’s hands, clutching them to her heart, jumping on the tips of her toes. Octavia turns to face her father, “Really dad?” 

“Yes,” he nods only for a second before Octavia throws her arms around his neck. Marcus holds his daughter close, and it feels like she’s a child again; small enough to twirl, easy enough to please. But she’s not a child, she’s _sixteen_ , and this is her _first_ car. 

“You cannot drive without an adult in the car until you pass your driving test, am I clear?” he pulls her back enough to hold her by the shoulders, looking at her gleaming eyes. Octavia shakes her head in agreement furiously. Then something in her face changes. Her lips fall from the tight smile, and her shoulders slump. 

“Bell, what car will you have then?” Octavia asks turning to him. 

She doesn’t miss when her brother and her father share a brief look, and Bellamy stumbles to find the right words, his cheeks turning a pale pink. “Dad, got you a new car didn’t he?” Octavia crosses her arms in front of her chest, and turned back to Marcus who had begun to hide behind Abby. 

“Hey, I didn’t get Bellamy a car until college remember? And it was also _used_ ,” Marcus said, now clutching Abby’s body in front of him, hoping to stop the continued advancement of Octavia’s death glare. 

“So I get the _used used_ car then?” Octavia rose her eyebrow. 

“I mean you could have no car at all?” Abby interjected, surprising all three of them, “It’s lucky to have a car as a sixteen-year-old. Clarke didn’t get my old car until sophomore year of college.” 

Octavia looked from Abby to her father and then back to Abby, who matched Octavia’s stare without hesitation. (The term for Abby in this moment was _a fucking boss_. In another world she’d have hype men standing behind her. As every mother should when dealing with their teenage children.) 

“You’re right,” Octavia said after a moment of silent sparring. 

Marcus stared back at Octavia, down at Abby’s profile, and up at Bellamy’s smirking face hiding behind his hand. 

“I tend to be,” Abby shrugged her shoulders, a small smile tugging at the ends of her lips. Octavia laughed, and turned to go check out the inside of her new car, Bellamy following to make sure she knew every nook and cranny. 

“Oh my god,” Marcus whispered in Abby’s ear, “that was _amazing_ ,” he gripped her hips in his palms excitedly, “that … was … so much easier.”

Marcus looked down as Abby turned in his arms. Her palm reached up to cup his face, as she lifted herself onto her tiptoes to bring their lips only centimeters apart, “Same team?” 

“Always,” he was able to choke out before laying a soft peck on her lips. 

 _BEEP BEEP BEEP_  

Octavia’s horn scared them and they found the two siblings cackling in the front seats.

* * *

“Okay don’t press on the gas yet!” Marcus said in a strained voice, subconsciously gripping the handle on the side of the door, “we’re just going to take our foot off the brake, and let the car move on its own.” 

Bellamy watched as the vein in his fathers’ neck strained, and looked over at Abby beside him in the back seat, simply observing Octavia with her legs crossed. 

“Dad, I’m going like five miles per hour!” Octavia complained, as the car barely made any progress on the main subdivision road. Bellamy laughed as another car breezed by them, and Marcus sharply turned his head to give Bellamy a stern look. The boy stopped his chuckles with a quick clear of his throat, earning a soft grin from Abby. 

They approached the first stop sign since they’d turned out of their driveway. It felt like years before the Honda rolled up slowly to the red sign and came to a full stop.

“Okay,” Marcus let out a long breath, “remember, whoever came to a full stop at the intersection first has the right away.” 

“I know how a stop sign works,” Octavia growled, becoming more irritable by the second. “And there’s _no one_ _here_ so can I press the gas now?” 

“Very slowly put your foot on the gas pedal,” Marcus started but Octavia had already begun moving forward at a pleasant pace. 

She passed the stop sign and Marcus commented, “Not too fast Octavia!” 

Octavia turned to him, “I’m _literally_ going ten miles per hour!” 

Abby noticed the low to the floor sleek car in the corner of her eye, as Marcus yelled at Octavia to look back at the road, and then Bellamy cried “O!”

A red convertible sped out of an adjacent neighborhood, believing it could beat Octavia onto the lane she was driving without yielding in the middle one. But as Octavia had turned to fight with her father, she hardly noticed her foot pressing harder on the gas. Octavia slammed on the brakes as all their bodies flew forward, and were stopped sharply by the hold of their seat belts. They all let out a breath as the red car honked and raced away. 

“God damn it Octavia,” Marcus growled without thinking. 

But as suddenly as the words flew from his mouth, Octavia put the car in park, turned it off and took out the keys from the ignition. She unbuckled her seatbelt and threw the keys on her fathers lap aggressively. 

“I don’t want to learn to drive anyway!” she told him opening her door and storming out. Octavia clutched the handle of Bellamy’s door and pulled it, “Switch spots.” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, “Get back in the front Octavia, you’re being dramatic.” 

“No I’m not,” she whined, “ _I’m trying_ to learn how to drive, but someone keeps micromanaging me!” Octavia taunted her father. 

“You don’t even know what that word means,” Bellamy ridiculed her. 

“Get out!” Octavia pointed at the street. 

“Stop being a brat!” Bellamy fought back.

“Ugh, you’re infuriating!” Octavia slammed the door in his face.

They watched as she stomped her way around the back of the car, and hopped over the curb to begin walking on the sidewalk towards their home. 

“Way to go dad,” Bellamy muttered. 

“You all realized we almost crashed right?” Marcus looked at them with wide eyes, “If she would have listened to me -” 

Abby put her hand up to stop him, saying only one word, “Marcus.” 

With that she unlocked her door and followed the sullen sixteen-year-old. Abby jogged a little to catch up to the swift walker that Octavia was, until both boys saw them come to a stop, shoulder to shoulder. Marcus watched as Abby lifted her hands up to Octavia’s shoulders, gently rubbing up and down her arms. He saw them laugh at something, before Octavia wiped away a stray tear from her flushed face and nodded. 

Both he and Bellamy turned to face the front of the car, trying to act normal, when the two ladies approached it once more. Marcus saw someone from his peripherals at his window, and then his door opened. Abby looked down at him with her arm stretched out and her palm facing up, “Switch spots, and give me the keys.” 

Marcus glares back at her, not used to this transfer of authority. He grumbles incoherent words under his breath and lifts himself from the passenger seat, placing the keys gently in her hand. Abby pecks his cheek as he slides past her and reminds him, “Same team.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, making his way to squeeze in the back seat with Bellamy.

Abby adjusts the front seat to her liking and then hands Octavia the keys, “Okay, rule number one, you don’t go over fifteen miles per hour. Rule number two, you stay within the subdivision, you’re not ready to drive in crowded public streets yet.” 

Octavia nods rapidly, “Okay,” and turns on the car, “What’s the third rule?” she asks. 

“What do you mean?” Abby replies, pulling the seatbelt over her body and clicks it in. 

“Usually rules come in threes, I don’t know you seemed on a roll there,” Octavia noted.

Abby chuckles, “Okay, rule number three, _listen_ to my advice when driving please.”

Octavia smiles, “Sounds good.” 

They all hear Marcus let out a frustrated gruff, “But when I-” 

“Dad!” Bellamy smacks his shoulder at the same time that Abby whips her head to look back at him, “Enough!” 

“Okay, okay!” He put his palms up as a white flag.

* * *

These are the things that Clarke knew. 

Eden Care was one of the fanciest retirement homes located in Meta Park. Elysium Homes was also rated highly, but it resided on the other side of the border. 

The only main difference that Clarke could find between the two, was that Eden Care had more on-site licensed physicians. Which means whatever Vera’s condition was, it got worse. 

And visiting hours were the longest on Saturdays. 

Clarke had stopped by the office on her way to Marcus’s house to access the company database. She wasn’t the one in charge of accounts, but she had a high enough classification to see all invoices. But neither terms Eden Care, Elysium Homes, or Vera Kane were found in any files. If they weren’t connected to the company accounts, he dealt with them all personally. _If he dealt with them at all_ , Clarke thought. Which meant she couldn’t risk calling Eden Care because they might notify him to whatever email or phone number he had in their system. There was only one way she could speak to Vera Kane, and that’s if she went there herself. The sooner the better. 

 _Why are you hiding her?_ Clarke rubbed her temples, before shutting down her computer and continuing her commute to Arkadia’s hillside.

* * *

What Clarke walked in on (after Octavia opened the door to the warm house briefly greeting her before sprinting back down to the living room, a controller in hand) was something that she would have never imagined. It looked like a poorly made family commercial for a gaming system. All of them had a control in their hands, staring intently at the screen, and then at the exact moment she stepped foot into the room they all made a loud noise of some sort. 

“The question _literally_ asked which choices were types of medical doctors,” Bellamy groaned, “and she’s _literally_ a doctor! So unfair, we’re going to have to change some of the rules!”

“You _literally_ always pick sports and leisure,” Octavia shoved his arm as she mimicked him, “so shut up!” 

“You all still realize I’m leading by a wedge right?” Marcus shouted above them all. 

“Because you spam us with arts and literature questions!” Bellamy huffed tossing his head back. 

All of the attention was focused on the screen, as Clarke merely waved at everybody, and sat on the edge of the couch and turned her attention to the scoreboard. They were playing _Trivial Pursuit_ on what she could only assume was a PlayStation by the looks of their glowing controllers. Marcus only needed two wedges to complete his pie, Bellamy and Abby needed three, and Octavia was a few points from matching her brother and earning her third wedge. 

They reached the final round of rapid fire, and it was Marcus’s turn to pick. His choices: Arts & Literature or History. 

“This is to prove I can beat you without an arts question,” he chose History. 

“You’re a dead man,” Octavia snickered, as Bellamy leaned forward on his knees, and Abby remained cool and quiet. 

 _Who first used the term "iron curtain" to describe the communist threat?_  

All four of them answered Winston Churchill and got it right. The second question eliminated Octavia. The third was answered wrong by Bellamy. But both adults reached the end, answering all questions right and earning a wedge. 

“Way to go mom,” Clarke cheered, and her mother winked slyly at her, a small smile shaping her lips. 

“Whoa we’re a nonpartisan family here,” Bellamy interrupted, “you can’t choose a side when you’re not playing.” 

“Who are you?” Clarke raised her eyebrow, a small laugh following. 

“Oh, yeah,” Bellamy leaned over his sister to shake Clarke’s hand in an introduction. 

“Clarke, Bellamy,” Octavia mumbled as she focused on the game, “Bellamy, Clarke. Bells my big brother. And Clarke is Abby’s daughter, also dad’s intern.” 

Clarke shook Bellamy’s hand before he pulled away commenting, “Ah I see, super weird.” 

“Meh,” she shrugged. 

“Abby’s turn to pick,” Octavia shoved Bellamy’s cheek to face the TV, “have mercy,” she added when the choices that presented themselves were Science & Nature or Entertainment. Bellamy groaned and Octavia cheered when Abby chose Entertainment. 

_What actor in The King's Speech also starred in Bridget Jones's Diary?_

Bellamy answered wrong, while the other three moved along to the second question. Marcus failed the third question, and Abby and Octavia walked away with a wedge. Leaving Abby and Marcus tied in first. Both only a wedge away from winning.

It was Octavia’s turn to pick and she nearly threw her controller at the screen when she was given the choice between Geography and Science & Nature. 

“Don’t do it,” she heard her father warn. 

“Do ittttttttt!” Bellamy howled along with Clarke. 

All the children knew Octavia and Bellamy did not have a chance at winning anymore. It was time to pick a side. 

 _What color does litmus paper turn when it comes into contact with an acid?_  

“Shit,” Marcus huffed as he thought critically. He watched as Abby only took a second before choosing her answer. “Do take your time,” he commented, as the clock ran down in time and he barely made his choice in the few last seconds. 

Everyone got the answer wrong except for Abby. Crowning her the winner. 

“You were a silent one,” Bellamy shook his head, tossing the controller on the coffee table, “always the people to watch out for.” 

“You had to choose Science, Octavia?” Marcus groaned, “We both would have had an equal chance at Geography!” 

“Don’t be a sore loser!” Octavia responded leaning over to give Abby a high five, of which she gave back with a wide smile on her face. 

“Yeah,” Abby turned to Marcus, “don’t be a sore loser. I won fair and square!” 

“We’ll have a rematch after dinner,” Marcus waved his hand in the air, obviously very irritated. 

“Oh my God,” Abby giggled, “you’re actually mad that I won!” 

“I was in the lead the whole time it’s ridiculous,” Marcus rolled his eyes. 

“I can't believe you’re being a child about this,” Abby commented, shaking her head side to side in disapproval. 

“I’m not being a child,” Marcus defended himself. 

“Yes you are,” Octavia quipped. 

“It’s cause he _never_ loses,” Bellamy laughed. 

“Oh, yeah you’re right!” Octavia smacked her brothers shoulder, laughing along with him. But Bellamy only smacked her back after her hit while complaining, “Ow dude you’re stronger than you think!” 

“HI CLARKE,” Marcus said loudly changing the subject and standing to embrace the young lady who’d walked into a family war zone. 

“Hello,” she hugged him back. 

“Hey honey,” her mom kissed her cheek. 

“We shook hands earlier,” Bellamy waved at her from his spot on the couch, Clarke affirmed with a nod. 

“Happy Birthday,” Clarke finally hugged Octavia. 

“Thanks,” Octavia replied, “now that you’re here we can get ready for dinner!” 

“Oh okay,” Clarke nodded, “where are we eating?” 

Bellamy’s eyes brightened, and he cleared his throat. “Bell don't you dare!” Octavia’s head whipped and if looks could kill Bellamy would no longer be breathing.

But he got up and grabbed Octavia’s hand in his and began spinning her around, “ _When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!”_

“What is going on?” Clarke murmured to her mom, who was trying to hide her baffled look as best she could. Then a louder deeper voice vibrates next to her and Marcus approached Bellamy who passed Octavia over, “ _When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine, that’s amore!”_  

“You do this every year!” Octavia feigned annoyance but her grin and giggles as her brother and father took turns spinning her around gave her away.

“I guess we’re eating Italian,” Abby inferred, her eyes crinkling from the sight and voice of Marcus singing horribly and loudly. 

“I mean at this point it’d be weird not to,” Clarke replied.

* * *

Bellamy sat quietly, as Clarke and Octavia gossiped over him, and Marcus and Abby whispered things to the waiter. (Abby had tried to split the bill in secrecy.) The lights were dimmed and table candles on their last inch. He liked Clarke. He liked Abby. But the more he learned about them, the further he found himself uncomfortable. Although, he hardly showed it.

It was complicated. The mess so perfectly crafted over the years by Marcus wasn’t his problem to untangle, or even explain. 

He loved his father. 

He loved his father so much that he kept secrets for him. For Octavia. For their lives. 

Bellamy knew the truth. 

The mere idea of that truth ever coming to light, had not crossed his mind since he discovered it years ago. The dormant thought resurrected when he saw the way Octavia loved Abby. It began when Abby had calmed Octavia earlier that morning on the sidewalk. It grew when Octavia so clearly chose Abby during _Trivial Pursuit_. But a lot of this thought lived in the little things. 

Such as, Octavia asking Abby’s opinion on what to wear to dinner, and shyly asking if Abby could make a reverse French braid on her hair. Choosing to sit next to Abby at the restaurant table. And the look on Octavia’s face when she was gifted a blue butterfly made of stained glass to hang from the rearview mirror of her new car. 

Octavia doesn’t hug many people. But she embraced Abby so fiercely, that Bellamy felt his throat tighten at the scene. He wasn’t expecting this. Never in a million years. Marcus had paved such a rich road to bachelorhood, that Bellamy never even thought Octavia would have a maternal figure in her life again. 

He was happy his father had found love. But Bellamy was practical, and often times pessimistic, so he never ruled out the possibility of heartbreak. However, now that heartbreak involved his sister. And the idea of her losing Abby was not something he would ever want to see. 

Now, Bellamy and Marcus stood outside the restaurant holding the personal items of the girls who decided to all go to the restroom before heading home. Bellamy shifted Octavia’s jean jacket on his shoulder, and Clarke’s satchel in his fingers. 

“I don’t know why her bag is so heavy,” Marcus stated, lifting Abby’s purse like he was curling a weight. 

“You could just put it on the floor?” Bellamy asked. 

“No, I did that once and she got mad at me,” Marcus sighed, shifting his weight to another foot. 

“Oh,” Bellamy replied. 

They both stood without saying more. The sound of cars passing on the main road filling the air. Marcus watched as Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek, and stared intentionally away from his dad. 

“I’m,” Marcus begins softly, “I’m sorry I didn’t find time to properly introduce you to Abby sooner. I know all of this was kind of sprung on you-” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Bellamy cut him off, shaking his head with a small smile. 

“Do what?” Marcus rose his eyebrow. 

Bellamy looked at the front door of the restaurant anxiously and then to Marcus, “Explain, or even ask for my approval on Abby. I’m not O. And you and me don’t have the same relationship as you and her.” 

“Bellamy,” Marcus began in a concerned voice, “I know I don’t say it often, but I value your opinion just as much as Octavia’s. I value both of you the same.” 

“I know,” Bellamy shook his head rapidly side to side, “what I said came out wrong. All I’m saying is that I’m not going to hate you for dating someone I don’t like.” 

“You don’t like Abby?” 

“No, she’s great!”

“You do like Abby?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Marcus stood tersely. His stomach churning, his breath shallow. Bellamy had something to say, and it was important because he could see all the internal dialogue going on in the boys mind right in front of him. 

“Are you going to marry Abby?” Bellamy suddenly spoke. He turned to face Marcus head on, even taking a step forward. Marcus’s eyes widened, as Bellamy continued, “No bullshit. I know you love her. I know she loves you. But how permanent is this?” 

“That thought hasn’t crossed my mind Bellamy,” Marcus swallowed, “you of all people know how _new_ this is to me.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bellamy replied. 

“You’re already thinking I’m going to screw this up,” Marcus inferred, feeling a little ashamed. A knot tightened in his throat, and his bottom lip began to tremble. 

“It’s not just about you anymore,” Bellamy continued, “O’s a part of this just as much as you now. She loves Abby-” 

“I _know_ that,” Marcus growled. 

“Then you _know_ what has to happen,” Bellamy stated with a hard voice. 

Marcus’s mouth shut in a fine line. Then he said, “Nothing’s changed, son.” 

Marcus clutched Abby’s purse harder, feeling the tense pain in his knuckles, when he saw Bellamy exhale dramatically. Bellamy had opened his mouth, shut it, let out an unbelievable laugh, and then said, “Everything’s changed, dad. You can’t afford to be selfish anymore.”

* * *

The ride home had been normal, evidently leaving the conversation Bellamy and Marcus had rattling around restlessly in Marcus’s mind. Yet, he still wasn’t sold on the fact that his final truth _had_ to be shared. It had been taken care of, and tucked away in the back of his mind for good reason. A reason that made his stomach ache and head pound every time he thought too long about it. 

Upon arrival he had escaped to the shower, leaving Abby with the teens downstairs. Unanimously they had decided to hang out together, without adults, at a coffee lounge nearby. Prompting Clarke and Octavia to change into more comfortable clothing. 

While waiting for the girls, Bellamy spotted the front door ajar and went to find the culprit at hand. Instead, he stumbled upon Abby looking for something in her car. She stepped out empty handed, and with a disappointed look on her face. As she clicked her car locked, their eyes met across the concrete steps up to the front door. 

“Looking for something?” He inquired gently. 

“My phone charger,” she sighed, “I guess I left it at home.” 

Bellamy chuckled, “I’m sure my dad has one _somewhere_ inside.” 

“Yeah I’m sure you’re right,” she pursed her lips, “I’m just used to-” 

“Fixing your own problems,” Bellamy smiled, “relying on yourself for even the smallest of things.”

Abby raised her eyebrow unimpressed, “Mmm they told me you were going into law not psychology.” 

“I have no clue what I’m going into actually,” he replied coolly. 

This answer surprised Abby, and she fought to meet stares with him. But Bellamy dodged her curious eyes professionally. So she simply lifted her palm up to squeeze his shoulder, “You’ll figure it out.” 

“Yup,” he answered shortly, “that’s what they keep telling me.” 

Abby watches as he looks down at his feet, shuffling from one to the other. His hands are firmly shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” Abby told him quietly. Her voice barely audible to him, as if she was protecting their conversation, as if she knew he didn’t like saying these things aloud. 

“Well that’s a bit easier for you to say, you became a doctor. You knew what you wanted to be,” he replied in the same tone. 

“I knew I wanted to help people,” she corrected him, her chin lifting. “However, the exact profession I chose …was based on what would make my father most proud,” Abby answered honestly. “But, I wouldn’t change any of it for the world,” she stated definitively, “especially because of the hospital I work at now, and it’s how I met my hus-” 

Abby’s voice fades before the end of the sentence can flow from her mouth. There’s a small silence, that doesn’t last long. The feeling of pins in her fingertips has come and gone. 

“I know,” Bellamy murmurs, “dad told me. I think it’s stupidly perfect.” 

This earns a laugh from Abby, “You know, everyone says that. But it really wasn’t. It was complicated and sudden, but we made it work.” 

Bellamy wrestles with himself, knowing he should leave it at that, but his lips ask, “Why?” and evidently, “How?” 

Abby falls still, her memory battling against her stream of thoughts, until it stops. 

“Because,” she starts softly, “we had Clarke before we were married. My father wasn’t pleased. What’s new? But we had her, and we got married a year later, and we loved each other, and it was enough.”

Bellamy watched as Abby swallowed. He was waiting for it. The big reveal. The _my husband was a cheat_ (or fuck, maybe she was the cheat) or _we couldn’t afford rent_ or _we were so young_. Bellamy stood like stone, and cursed himself for the curiosity he hid so well behind his blank expression. He should tell her that she doesn’t need to share, that they can go inside, and appreciate the brief moment of confidence between the two. But he wants to know. He wants to know if perhaps Abby had done horrible, unspeakable, shitty, and shameful things in her life -- so he didn’t feel like such an asshole watching her give her heart to a man who had not yet reached full capacity of honesty. However, Bellamy was ill-prepared and abashed at himself when she finished her story. 

“When Clarke turned five she wished for a baby brother on her birthday. Jake would never say it out loud, but he wanted a son too. If we had another girl, he wouldn’t be at all disappointed. But this image of a son, our son, became real and we wanted it. So we tried, and tried, and then one day Clarke went from accident to miracle.” 

Bellamy felt his chest cave in, and his throat catch fire. 

“I can’t-” Abby’s voice cracked, “I can’t have any-” 

“It’s okay,” Bellamy cut her off suddenly, “I understand.” His hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder as she had his. “Abby?” Bellamy asked lowly. 

“Yes?” 

“Your father’s a fucking dick if he was never proud of the woman you became, and the child you raised.” 

Abby cackled, unable to speak, as she nodded in agreement with tears at the side of her eyes, not falling. She felt his hand leave her shoulder, and became fully aware of what she had just disclosed. 

“Bellamy,” Abby turned to him, “ _he_ doesn’t know. I haven’t talked about it to him.” 

“Too busy fixing him, haven’t gotten around to talk about yourself yet?” 

The bite in Bellamy’s tone is clear, but Abby also heard the concern muddled underneath it all. 

“That’s unfair.” 

“No it’s not,” he tells her, and it feels like it’s Clarke standing in his place. Bellamy’s eyes are blazing with a strength Abby only receives when someone is trying to make a point with her. “There are two people in a relationship Ab-” 

“If you are suggesting that there is an imbalance of empathy within your father and I’s relationship I suggest you re-evaluate your opinion before you finish. Don’t insult my judgment. I’m not a naive schoolgirl looking for excitement, or a woman looking to fix a man simply for the challenge.” 

“I know!” Bellamy almost shouts. 

“Well then?” Abby asks irritated. 

Bellamy leans down, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

His voice is laced with the concern Abby had taken note of before. 

All she can do is nod as he touches her shoulder one last time, “About what you told me before … it’s safe with me.” 

Then Abby is left outside, alone once again. 

As Bellamy enters the home, he immediately sees Marcus leaned against the wall beside the open door. He had only been a few feet away from the pair talking. Bellamy looks at his father, no apology falling from either of their lips. Marcus is pained, even if it only shows in his eyes.

They say nothing as they head down separate hallways before Abby can find them.


	16. What We Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hi, explicit content below. Just be aware.*  
>  Enjoy, maybe.

The cafe was a happy medium between coffee house music, and light conversation. Spread throughout the vast open room were people with books, tablets, and laptops. The trio ordered their beverages and escaped to the cool outside, sharing cushioned seats around a patio heater. Once their hot drinks were placed in front of them, conversation flew rapidly and easily.

It gave Bellamy a chance to learn more about Clarke, and vice versa. Often leaving Octavia to chime in with thoughts and opinions, when the two weren’t trying to find common ground with their different lives in university. And truly how different those two experiences were.

“So how many pushups can you do in a minute?” Clarke asked.

“Enough to rank high on the FBI test,” Bellamy laughed.

“You are not joining the FBI. Dad will kill you,” Octavia rolled her eyes.

“Well I’m not going to be a lawyer either O,” Bellamy quipped.

“Just come back home,” Octavia muttered.

Bellamy smiled down at his lukewarm mug, “we’ll see. And you,” he turned to Clarke, “what do you want to do when you graduate?”

“Yikes,” Clarke laughed nervously, “let’s stop talking about our futures huh?”

“Yeah agreed,” he chuckled, as they all sipped their drink.

So they did. They talked about their childhood. The good parts at least. Bellamy never brought up his biological father and his wife. Instead, they talked about vacation trips, and birthdays, and embarrassing moments. The topic led Clarke to believe she could ask something so simple. In hopes that it would slyly help her figure out this Marcus mystery.

“Do you guys have grandparents?”

Bellamy and Octavia’s eyes shot to each other, before Octavia got up with a sigh and said, “I’m going to leave this one to you. I already explained it to one Griffin the other night, and I want another hot chocolate.”

Clarke’s eyes fell to her lap the moment Bellamy nodded silently, and Octavia made her way back inside.

“We have one,” Bellamy started with a tense voice, “well O does. She’s O’s biological grandma, not mine.”

Clarke nodded, “And she’s not around?”

Bellamy looked at Clarke knowing he had two choices in the moment. One, tell Clarke what Octavia had told Abby, and what Octavia inherently thought was right. Or two, tell Clarke the truth.

“No she’s not,” Bellamy began, but Clarke starting chipping away at her fingernails, distracting him for a second. “When she found out about Octavia, she wanted nothing to do with them. With us.”

Clarke’s face lifts up suddenly, and Bellamy sees the crinkle on her forehead form. But it’s not anger, it’s confusion. As if something isn’t adding up. And in Clarke’s mind it wasn’t. She had heard the voice of Marcus’s mother; soft, and kind, and sweet. There was no way they were talking about the same woman.

“Nothing at all?” Clarke murmured but she didn’t want that question to be answered. She wasn’t finished creating her thoughts, figuring out if she wanted to ask the _big_ question.

“Why do you care so much?” Bellamy asked under his breath, looking at the door to the cafe for Octavia’s return.

“Why don’t you?” Clarke shot back.

“Because she’s lived with it her whole life,” Bellamy replied, “ _we’ve_ lived with it,” he corrected himself.

Clarke searched Bellamy’s face for signs of something. She wasn’t sure what, but something that would tell her what he thought was the truth. But just as she scrutinized him, he did to her as well.

“What do you know?” Bellamy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the yellow string lights above their heads glowing on his dark irises. He watched as she sat quiet in front of him. Her lips coming together in a line, as she debated thoughts in her head.

Clarke looked off to the side, not making eye contact with him as she said, “I don’t know anything.”

That one look away made him jump to conclusions, “Don’t lie to me. What do you know?”

She turned back to him with a stern expression, almost one of annoyance, “So, Octavia told my mom what you just told me? That your grandma never tried to get in contact with any of you?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess, or you know?”

“Well that’s what Octavia knows,” Bellamy hissed, once again looking behind him at the door.

“But you know more?” Clarke pressed, “You know the truth.”

Clarke watches as his shoulders fall and he turns back to her, “What do you know Clarke?”

“She called,” Clarke spoke cautiously, “the night your dad won the award from the Hospital, she called the office and left a voicemail.”

Bellamy can’t hide the look of surprise at Clarke’s statement. And she questions whether she has done the right thing telling him.

“Does he know she called?” Bellamy asks her.

“No,” Clarke shook her head, “but that’s what I don’t understand. She isn’t ignoring him … she sounds like she misses him.”

Bellamy’s head flashed behind him again, before he continued, “He has her number blocked, I don’t understand …”

“They’ve moved her.”

“What?”

“That’s what she said,” Clarke gulped, “that she was moved from Elysium Homes to Eden Care.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy let his head fall into his hands, “I haven't checked my mailbox in weeks,” she heard him mutter.

“You’re the one with the paper trail,” Clarke gasped softly, “not him. What the hell is going on Bellamy?”

“There’s not enough time, O will be back any second.”

“Why is he lying to her? To my mom?”

“Clarke, I don’t think he intended for Abby to ever find out.”

“And that’s what, better?”

“No,” Bellamy shook his head, “but you can’t tell Octavia anything. Alright?”

“And my mom?” Clarke hissed.

“Or your mom. Clarke please,” Bellamy begged under his voice, Clarke could hear it tremble.

“Why are you hiding this for him?”

“Because he asked me to,” Bellamy looked at Clarke with an expression she had yet to see on his face since the moment they met. An expression of protection. Of love.

Clarke couldn’t speak as Octavia emerged from the door with a new mug in hand, all she could do was nod, and act alongside him for the rest of the night.

* * *

Abby felt the bottom of her feet touch the cold wood of the first floor. Her hair was still damp from the hot shower she’d just taken, but the cool air running through the house felt good on her skin. She wore similar pajama shorts as last night, and another one of Marcus’s shirts.

The house was eerily calm, not quiet, because she could hear music rolling down the hallway to her. The kids had left almost twenty minutes ago, with _Bellamy_ driving. Abby followed the soft sounds, as she walked by the dark kitchen into the dim living room, and found the clear screen doors to the backyard open.

She tiptoed closer to the doorway, and stopped at the sight of him alone at the edge of the pool, with his feet dipped to his calves in the water. He leaned back on his palms, and stared blankly at the landscape before him. Abby watched as he swished his feet back and forth languidly, completely unaware of her presence. She took advantage of her phone charging in a nearby port, and pulled on it to detach from the cable.

Quickly she swiped her lock screen to the right, and before her was the camera view. Without thinking more about it she took a few photos of him from her place. They weren’t perfect, and surely darker than she would have liked. But they were hers.

After sliding her phone back on the nearest table, she quietly made her way outside. Still barefoot, the tile surrounding the pool felt colder than the inside floors. The weather had gotten chilly, letting them know fall was around the corner.

At the sight of her body leaning to sit down next to him, Marcus looked up startled. The look in his eyes made Abby freeze halfway down. He had been deep in thought about something, obviously, but by the looks of it -- it was something that worried him.

“Shit sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay,” Abby told him as she sat beside him. As soon as the back of her legs hit the floor, and her feet submerged themselves in the warm water, Marcus’s left hand flew to the top of her right knee. “I was preparing for it to be cold,” Abby commented.

“Heater,” Marcus replied, pointing to some object in the distance.

“Should have known,” Abby laughed lightly.

The corner of Marcus’s lips lifted into a soft smile, as he turned back to look at the hills. Abby reached for his hand, and ran her fingers over his knuckles and veins. She looked at him through her peripherals, but he was not paying attention to anything again. He was in his mind. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, he spoke in a gentle tone.

“I overheard your conversation with Bellamy today. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

Abby’s fingers stilled above his hand. He doesn’t move it, no matter how tense he feels her body get next to his. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t even feel like she could breathe.

“And I’m sorry,” Marcus murmured, “I should have walked away, but I didn’t.”

Abby’s hand falls from his, as she grips the edge of the pool between her palms.

“Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?” she asked him so delicately that he barely heard her over the music and light breeze.

With this he turns to her, “No Abby, not at all.”

She doesn’t lift her head from watching their feet create ripples in the water. Abby hardly notices when her hands begin to shake, and her shoulders shiver. One of her most intimate secrets being unraveled before her, much earlier than she had ever destined.

“I-” her voice breaks, “I wanted him more than anything I have ever wanted my whole life. Which is ridiculous because I have Clarke, and she’s enough, and she’s healthy and happy.”

Marcus instinctually wraps his arms around Abby’s shoulder’s, pulling her into his side, as she digs her face into his chest.

“But finding out that no matter how hard I tried … I couldn’t,” she continued practically breathlessly, “It really hurt.”

His fingers thread through her wet hair, pushing it away from her face. She feels warm, as her small body curls up against him.

“Marcus,” her voice strains out, “I’ve waited this long, because I was afraid to tell you. You deserve someone who can give you-”

“Stop,” Marcus interrupts her, “please love.” He holds her neck in his palm, and brings her face up to look at him, “I’ve already gotten more than what I deserve. I have Octavia and Bellamy. I have you. I have enough.”

Before she can reply, he leans down to engulf her lips with his own. There are no tears falling down her face, as he cups her cheek and pulls her body closer to his. Her feet lift out of the water and onto the side of his hips, as he pulls her onto his lap.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, as their foreheads meet.

“I love you too,” she replies against his lips.

They sit for a moment staring into each others eyes, as the song in the background comes to an end.

“Marcus,” Abby murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Take me to bed.”

* * *

They’ve been here before. It feels like a million times now. But when he slips her shorts past her knees, and stares up at her as they fall to the floor, Abby remembers it’s not. His fingers skim the back of her knees, and she struggles to stand tall in front of him.

Her hands roam down his bare shoulders, feeling the different planes and scars he’s received throughout his lifetime. His head falls back as she digs into the tense muscles of his upper body. Knots that he’s had for years at a time. She smiles when a throaty groan comes from deep within him. There was a spot above his elbows that brings his forehead toward her stomach with a whispered curse word.

His hands are loose as they hug her hips between his legs. He likes her like this. When she’s a few inches taller than him, looking down with that expression he’s only seen with her.

She tells him to move up on the bed, and watches him as he pushes from his sitting position at the edge, and scoots until his back hits the hard headboard. He sees himself as if he’s her. Almost bare, mouth slightly open, bruised lips from the journey up to his room, and dark irises looking nowhere but at her.

His t-shirt brushes his thighs, as she lowers herself onto his lap. She’s temporarily paralyzed him beneath her. But she feels his breath, strong and steady, under her palms. His eyes close when she picks up his hand and places pressure in his palms. He strains to keep them open when she takes the other in her hand and gives it the same treatment.

After she’s made him living putty, completely relieved of tension in the deepest parts of his body, she reaches for the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over her head. His hands roam her back, and pull her in closer, kissing her exposed neck. Each one lingers longer than the previous.

Every movement feels like it’s slowed down ten times with the adrenaline running through her veins. The only light they have is the electronic fireplace many feet away from them. Each flicker from a flame illuminates a different part of his body. She believes she can see every particle, eyelash, and mark in front of her.

He holds her waist tight in his hands, as she moves atop him. But he won’t ask to remove the last barrier between the two of them. He’ll wait until she’s ready to never look back.

They’re not frantic. Each movement is unhurried, even if they don’t know the time their children will be home. All external factors were locked outside the bedroom, pounding on the windows, but drowned out by the noises of only their movement and breaths.

She leaves his lips, and something in her eye tells him she’s hesitant.

“We don’t have to,” he tells her, threading his fingers in the back of her head.

She doesn’t look up at him, when she shakes her head side to side.

“No I want to,” her voice is small, and suddenly she’s pushing off him to stand on her knees in between his legs.

She thumbs the elastic on the side of her underwear, and looks down at herself when she pushes them past her thighs, and shimmies them off one leg and then the other. Marcus gulps as she tosses them to some unknown location on the floor, and turns back to him with her hands pushing her messy waves away from her face.

His sight closes in on her last secret from her life before him. It’s small, barely the size of a penny. But it’s there, in black ink on her inner left hip. Forever hidden by the usual route covered by panties. Which explains why he’d never seen it until now. A small flower, with five petals.

“I got it after I found out,” she tells him softly.

Their eyes meet across the small amount of space between them that feels like mountains.

Before she has time to react, he’s leaned forward pulling her waist to meet his nose. Then his warm lips are over the mark, kissing her skin with a touch light as a feather, over and over again. Her abdomen is shaking in front of him, and he kisses it until it soothes beneath his touch.

Her fingers peel the last layer between them off, and gently she leans him back in the position he was just in. She doesn’t have to look to know he’s ready, and with one short breath there’s no return to life before him, to life before this.

Her movements are relaxed above him. At first unmoving, adjusting to him as he adjusts to her without saying anything; simple short breaths as communication. He holds her hands on his chest as she begins to move back and forth. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as she feels his heart beat increase. He’s gentle but ungraceful with the words the fall through his lips. Between profanities, his favorite being _fuck_ , he murmurs statements with words like _beautiful_ , and _good_ , and _everything_.

She clutches his hands roughly in her own, and brings them to touch her body. He wraps his arm around her waist, feeling the muscles of her lower back and hips under his palms. He can feel her naked breasts against his chest as he pulls her face towards his with his unaccompanied hand. Their lips wet from sloppy kisses in between pants. He notices her movements become sharp, and slow, and her murmurs die down with one last cry, until her forehead lays against his shoulder.

He can feel her pulsing around him, and tries hard to hide his smug smirk, while his fingers trace the pattern of her spine up and down. She lifts her head; her mouth open about to spew a premature apology before he crashes down on her, _literally_.

Until she lays beneath him, her head nearing the edge the bed. They share benevolent kisses and she moves his hair away from his face, to look at him look at her. He balances his weight above her on his two forearms, as her legs come to wrap around his waist. The air turns on, cooling their heated skin. For a brief moment she pities the women who thought they were in this spot with him, believing he looked down at them with his dark orbs in more than just lust. Inhaling his musky body wash. But in this moment she knew she was the only one to feel this warmth; to make him smile as they lay uncovered in eachothers arms. The only one.

“I want you,” he whispered above her, their gazes locking on eachother. Her breath unhearable as he continued, “like I’ve never wanted anything, anyone, this much before. I want you here, with me, next to me, around me, _fuck_ everywhere I go I want you.”

His head falls as their noses brush, and their eyes flutter close.

In one movement she murmurs, “I’m here,” and he closes the space between them. She repeats with a small gasp, “I’m here.” His hands slip to hold her ass, and she feels his weight heavier on top of her; a heavy that make her feel surrounded and safe. She feels his lips kissing the space between her shoulder and neck, smooth and hot, as he moves above her.

He relishes every moan and whimper that escapes her, but it’s when she says his name that he focuses hard not to unravel. He lifts his head, and without thinking Abby attacks the neck directly in front of her with her mouth. She runs her hands down his back, placing pressure on the soft skin at the end of his spine. She feels the rumble of his groan against her tongue as she sucks lightly at one of his pressure points.

Unable to handle her mouth on him, he pulls back swiftly, “Abby if you continue to do that-” he can’t finish his sentence because she’s looking up at him with a knowing glint in her eyes, and taunting smile. One that matches his smug grin from earlier exactly.

Then she giggles, her smile wide, as she throws her head back. Her joy contagious, as he feels his own mouth becoming sore from smiling equally as large. The sight of her laughing makes him stop for only a moment as he moves one hand to caress her jaw, kissing her silent.

The room is quiet once more, until she digs the bottom of her foot into his ass to keep moving. She lifts her hips only a few centimeters off the bed, as their foreheads find eachother, and they need no confirmation as his hand slips between them and moments later they cry out together.

* * *

It’s three in the morning when Bellamy is woken up from his spot on the living room couch by a silhouette shaking him gently, and subsequently telling him not to freak out.

“Where does your dad keep the booze?” the figure in front of him asks.

“Clarke,” he shakes his head, and rubs his eyes, “it’s the middle of the night.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she tells him under her breath, “and you’re going to need it when I tell you what’s next.”

Bellamy throws the throw blanket off his legs, and grumpily shoves his pillow aside for no reason, “What do you mean what’s next?”

Clarke grabs his hands, warm from sleep, and tugs him to stand. He takes it as his cue to lead her to the alcohol, so unhappily he turns on the light of the kitchen blinding them both so horribly he turns it back off again. Clarke’s quick to turn the flashlight on from her phone, and hand it over to him.

“We don’t have wine coolers Clarke,” Bellamy grumbles.

“Oh fuck off,” she rolls her eyes.

He opens a cupboard, and reaches in for whatever his hand finds first and pulls out a bottle of rum. He grabs plastic cups from the pantry as quietly as possible with a sleepy head, and a cherry coke from the fridge, earning a shush from Clarke when he cracks it open. A minute later he slides over a mix of coke, and rum with hints of coconut.

They take one long sip, and Clarke states, “This doesn’t even taste like alcohol.”

Bellamy shakes his head annoyed, “Yeah, give it a minute.”

They finish their drinks with Clarke’s phone awkwardly lighting the kitchen in a white light.

“So, you woke me up in the middle of night for what reason?” Bellamy asked as he picked up her empty cup and threw it away with his own.

“I’m going to see her,” Clarke declared.

“To see who?!” he turned so fast, he swore whiplash coursed through his neck.

“His mother,” she nodded, “next weekend, during her visiting hours.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke like she was the most insane person to live in the planet.

“Why would you do that?!” he tried desperately to ask below a harsh whisper.

Clarke lifted her chin at his poorly suppressed rage, “Because I want to know the truth. You won’t tell me it. And to be honest I don’t think I’d believe you if you did. So I want to hear it from her.”

“You’re not family, they won’t let you in.”

He hates when the ends of her lips lift into a small smirk, “That’s where you come in.”

“No.”

“Bellamy-”

“I said no,” he runs his hands through his hair frustrated, “Why can’t you just leave it alone? It’s not hurting anyone!”

Clarke shuts her mouth, looking at his wide eyes and broken expression, “I think it’s hurting _her_.”

“She left _one_ voicemail Clarke,” he hissed, “you can’t get that from _one_ call.”

“Please, Bellamy,” Clarke whispered, “I’ll pay for your flight, so he won’t find out. And everything's under your name right?” His lack of answer makes her continue believing she’s correct, “So if they call or email anyone, it will be you.”

Bellamy lifts her phone up, shutting down the light, and leaving them in the semi-dark.

“One trip, and you leave it alone,” he mutters returning to his makeshift bed on the couch.

“Deal,” Clarke smiles following him, “goodnight Bellamy.”

All she receives is a gruff, and him covering his body and head with the blanket he’d thrown off himself earlier. He hears her footsteps walk away, and the click of the guest room door shut. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about the woman who raised the man who definitely had his faults, but spent the rest of his life trying to make up for them. Except for one of course. His father could never face his greatest fault. Leaving the beginning of his life behind for himself, and never looking back.

* * *

Abby wakes to the sound of the soft rushing wind, roaming from one ear to the other. It tickles her hair, and she clutches the fluffy comforter around her closer to her body. His chest is no longer her pillow, and his body no longer her heater. Her hand reaches out to his side of the bed, to find it cold.

She lifts her head, and is met with instant relief, and confusion, by the door to the balcony open before her for the first time. It’s three in the morning, and she can’t remember hearing the kids get home last night. Glacially, she finds the shirt she’d thrown on the floor earlier that night and pulls it over her head, as she walks towards the balcony.

Marcus is leaning against the railing smoking the last cigarette from the same box he’s had since the night he met Abby. He sees her from the sides of his eyes, approaching slowly, cautiously, and he knows she’s trying to figure out why he’s out here in the earliest of mornings. And he won’t tell her it’s because he woke maybe twenty minutes ago with her naked body wrapped in his arms, more comfortable than he’s ever been. And all he wanted to do was wake her up with his mouth, but she looked so peaceful that he couldn’t find it in him to disturb her. And he rubbed the mark on her thigh with his thumb over and over until he could trace it by memory. And he thought about the thing, when it was the last thought he wanted rumbling around in his mid. And he struggled with blaming Bellamy for bringing it up at all. And he couldn’t sit there anymore with her in his arms, while he debated every angle this situation could go. He had to get up, he had to smoke a cigarette, and remember that only a few hours ago she was trembling beneath him, as he whispered his love as if he’d lose her the next day.

But it was the next day, and she was here. And the vision of her before him, made all his muddled thoughts go away.

“Hey,” she whispered, wrapping her body with her arms.

“Hey,” he replied, kissing her temple as she leaned against the railing with him.

“Why are you up so late? Couldn’t sleep?” she asked looking out at the view that was even better from this vantage point.

“I slept better than I can remember,” he told her, holding the cigarette up to his lips and inhaling. She closed her eyes as he exhaled in front of them, and they watched the cloud of smoke disappear into the night sky. “I woke up with you,” he turned to her, “and I wanted you again, but you looked calm and serene, and I didn’t want to be selfish. However, you make it hard being in the same bed.”

His chuckle made her blush, before she looked back at him, “You should’ve been selfish.”

They laugh together, until he lifted the cigarette up once more and took another drag, “I am, look at me, I’m smoking. It’s the most selfish thing a person can do.”

“Debatable,” Abby teases.

“It’s my last one anyway,” he looks down at the rolled up paper, almost done.

“Mmmm pity,” Abby murmurs, “I like when you smell of cigarettes.”

“Horrible doctor,” he shakes his head grinning.

“My mother used to tell me that one cigarette is one day less that you live,” Abby reached out to grab the cigarette from his fingers, and examining it within her own, “I called bullshit.”

His growing smile halts when she continues, “Don’t get me wrong, I know smoking has all these bad repercussions. I’m a doctor at the end of the day, like you said,” she grins up at him. “ _But,_ I also think that the number of days we live is already written, decided, whatever. So the amount you’ve smoked or will smoke, is already counted in your destiny.” Then she does something he does not expect, she lifts the cigarette up to her own lips and inhales the last of it, releasing the smoke with a calm breath, and flicks the bud off the balcony.

“There,” Abby whispers, “maybe you and I die on the same day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your eyeballs and intrigue in reading this story! It's been a ride of both fun and learning. This isn't goodbye, swear! Just giving my thanks! I appreciate all views, kudos, and comments immensely.


	17. White Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158383835@N05/39765116141/in/album-72157685764141303/)

 

_Six Months Later_

_New Year’s Eve_

Their noses were pink when they entered the warm restaurant. It’s high ceilings, dark furniture, and wooden floors gave it good balance between fancy and comfortable. The open room was decorated with gold, white, and black balloons.

The hostess took their coats, and complemented Abby’s new black dress in the process. Octavia had helped her pick out the one shoulder maxi dress almost a week ago when Marcus had announced they should all celebrate the new year with a late dinner. Bellamy flew into town the same day Clarke drove in, each scouring for outfits within hours of the meet time.

Abby tugged at her neat low bun, one more time, as the hostess led them to the back wall. It curved inward, and had a wide panel of windows. The table ceased silence the moment they all sat down.

Clarke gushed about her excitement of leaving to study abroad during her last semester of school, while Abby tried not show how absolutely terrified she was of her daughter leaving the country for almost six months. Marcus had been to Milan before, and once again their conversation soared into helpful tips, places to see, and restaurants to try. When he urged her to visit other cities nearby, his soft spot being Turin, Abby clenched his hand so forcefully in her own he almost yelped in pain.

Abby was excited for Clarke, but she was going to a country she had never visited before without knowing anyone but a study abroad advisor. She hadn’t even taken a single Italian language course to prepare! So needless to say, Abby was nervous. Above all, however, she would miss her daughter simply being in the same time zone.

After minutes of hesitation, Bellamy announced that he was applying for graduate school. One of them being ArkU, of which both Octavia and Marcus immediately wanted him to attend. He had spoken to Abby twice over the phone in great length, going into detail about what he enjoyed most from his courses, what he enjoyed least, and options available once he walked across that massive stage. He trusted Abby, and she didn’t persuade him one route or the other.

Octavia’s phone lit up, and she unlocked her screen so fast, smiling down at the message from Lincoln without knowing it. Lincoln was new. A senior at her high school, and Marcus’s greatest stress for the past month. He didn’t want Octavia to have a boyfriend, especially not one two years older than her with a massive tattoo wrapped around his bicep. But Lincoln was respectful and nice, so Marcus was only half the asshole he knew he would be when his daughter got her first boyfriend.

Abby noticed Marcus eyeing Octavia across from him, and moved her arm to rub up and down his back. He looked at her with a clenched jaw only she would be able to notice.

“I don’t like it,” Marcus had told her once in the dead of night, “I don’t like that they have easy access to each other through one small device. Pictures she sends him disappear! All her social media is private, I can’t see anything!”

“Octavia’s a good kid,” Abby muttered sleepily, having arrived late from a long shift, “trust her until she gives you a legitimate reason not to.”

Dessert arrived in no time, leaving them only thirty minutes until midnight. The kids couldn’t decide on one, so they ended up with a cheesecake, creme brulee, and a skillet chocolate chip cookie. A round of coffee later, Marcus excused himself from the table in search of the men’s room.

Bellamy opened the bathroom door to find his father wiping his hands repeatedly on his black suit pants. Marcus had beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and Bellamy grabbed the nearest paper towel and dabbed them away.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he murmured to his dad, a tender laughter following.

“She looks beautiful tonight,” Marcus nodded, unable to look at his son in front of him.

“That she does,” Bellamy commented, patiently waiting for Marcus to calm down.

Almost five minutes later, Marcus shook his head, rubbed his palms on a napkin one last time, and faced his son, “Okay,” he breathed out deeply.

They stared at each other earnestly, affirming what was going to happen next with a passing of a little black box from Bellamy’s pocket to his father’s shaking hand. Marcus held the delicate case with adrenaline pumping through every vessel of his body, before placing it in his jacket pocket firmly. Just as he was going to give Bellamy a relaxed thank you, his son pulled him into a firm hug. A final blessing.

They both walked back to the table, Clarke finding their eyes and immediately relaxing her shoulders. Octavia briefly looking behind Abby to the duo; for she had talked Abby’s ear off for the past eight minutes.

Marcus sat back down next to Abby, relieving Octavia of her duties.

“Good you’re back,” Abby murmured in his ear, her hands finding his own on her lap, “or else I’d have to find a total stranger to kiss at midnight.”

Marcus looked down at her glowing brown eyes, and noted how she looked in this moment, detail for detail. As the people around them counted down from ten, he lifted his hand to cup her face, bringing their noses together, as she closed her eyes with a smile on her lips.

_Four…_

“I love you,” she whispered.

_Three…_

“I love you too,” he replied softly.

 _Two_ …

They inched closer, their lips brushing.

_One …_

“Happy New Year,”  Abby opened her eyes with a wide smile.

“Happy New Year,” Marcus said, before he pulled her forward for a kiss.

In his mind, for this second alone, the room was silent. As their lips touched each others, moving slowly, cherishing the time, there was no sound. Then as they pulled away, her cheeks blushing, he sees joy. The dining guests erupting into cheers, and embraces. Marcus knew it was time, and the three onlooking eyes, impatiently affirmed that.

Before Abby could comprehend what was happening, Marcus pushed himself off his chair, and knelt down on one knee in front of her. Abby’s eyes grew tenfold at the sight of him, and one hand found her heaving chest, as her other covered her dropped jaw. His hands steady as they reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the small black box.

“Abigail Marie,” he started but felt his breath give into his shaking lungs, he inhaled deeply and opened the black box, “It wasn’t until we stumbled into each others lives, that I realized I had been looking for you all along, fearful that you didn’t exist. In the short time I have spent with you, I feel like I have lived a hundred years. I was lost on you since the moment you took my hand at the museum. I have needed you since I kissed you underneath the city bridge. Baby,” Marcus looked down, gathering himself before continuing, “I have loved you since the day we watched airplanes.”

Abby’s face hid in the palms of her hands, unable to handle the sight of him before her. Marcus bit his lip, and watched as she pressed down on the small tears falling down her face, until she looked back up at him with a crimson flush on her cheeks. The restaurant is hushed, as Marcus continues, “I love you because you laugh like you’ve never been alone, and _you love_ like you’ve always been lonely. You love with every part of your body, and my God … you saved me. You showed me that I could love, and be loved in return. And I know that I am not what you intended, or what you saw coming, and I’m not perfect. But baby, I will spend my life trying to be for you.”

Marcus smiles wholeheartedly at her, “I love you so much Abby. Will you marry me?”

He watches as she nods up and down madly, and he finishes, “Be my wife Abby, please.”

Without a second more, Abby throws her arms around him, as he catches her, balancing their weight, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. She pulls back enough to say, “Yes,” she kisses him on the lips and says again, “yes.”

The crowd erupts into applause, and both Clarke and Octavia document the moment with their phones in one hand, and wide grins on their face. Bellamy looks onward with a small smile, happy with the outcome of an event planned for weeks now.

Marcus slips the ring on Abby’s finger, memorizing just how perfect it fits, and how far her smile reaches as she pulls him into her arms once more. He thinks himself the luckiest man in the world, and clutches her against his chest.

* * *

They stumble into the hotel room, drunk off love, the feeling of a fresh new year, the thought of forever together, and the multiple glasses of champagne they drank after his proposal. Without remorse of the children’s long drive back to his house, they slip of their shoes, and Marcus crashes down on her above the plush bed.

Abby holds his face in her hands, the cool silver wrapped around her finger rubs against his cheek, making him feel entirely too much. He watches her eyes drop to the engagement ring, as it catches light no matter its place. Abby takes her time to truly look at it. In the middle there is a large cut oval diamond, and the silver band that holds it has added tiny diamonds.

Marcus rubs a route up and down her side, “I know it’s …” he struggles to find the right words, “extravagant.”

“Yup,” she giggles.

And he smiles at her teasing, then seriously says, “But I kept returning to it at,” Marcus catches himself and tries to quickly finish his sentence, “the jewelry store.”  

Abby raises her eyebrow, not missing his slip, and before he can stop her she’s reaching for the ring. Coolly she slips it off, and on the inside she sees the engraved trademark _Tiffany & Co. _ in small letters.

“Marcus!” she smacks his shoulder, but the grin on her face never leaves.

“I think you like it though …” he whispers, watching her slip it back on.

“I love it,” she replies as she kisses every part of his face that she can reach with her lips. “You sure you want to marry me?” Abby murmurs against his cheek.

“What a ridiculous question,” Marcus shakes his head side to side, their noses brushing, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well for one,” she says, her index finger tracing over his bottom lip, “I steal all the blankets in bed.”

“We’ll buy more blankets,” he tells her, pulling gently on the elastic band of her bun, until the locks of her golden brown hair lay loose under her head.

“I’m hopeless with technology,” she continues, “you’ll have to explain every device in your house to me repeatedly.”

Marcus lifts himself to hover over her on his elbows, “Oh, so we’ve already chosen my house to live in huh?” he teases.

Abby smiles, “You like your house,” she rubs the tips of her fingers back and forth along his jawline, “I like your house,” her hands freeze, and her eyes fall between them, “and it’s Octavia’s home.”

They let the words hang in the silence for a few seconds, letting the truth of her words melt into their minds. “Clarke’s gone,” Abby whispers, “she’ll want her own apartment when she returns, because that’s who my daughter is,” she laughs gently. “Clarke has no ties to our house.”

“And you?” Marcus asks softly.

Abby looks up at him quizzically, “ _You’re_ my home now, idiot.” She runs a gentle finger over the bridge of his nose, “I go where you go,” she traces the bones of his cheek, until she stops to cup it in her palm, “What happens to you, happens to me now.”

The lids of Marcus’s eyes shut and he whispers, “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

She can’t help but laugh, “You really know how to sell yourself.”

“Abby …” He sighs.

“ _I love you_ ,” Abby tells him fervently, “I love that you take a ridiculous amount of time in the shower. I love that you fall asleep with your glasses on. I love that you still pronounce _quinoa_ and _acai_ wrong.”

“Stupid words,” he grumbles.

“I love _you_ ,” she repeats, “and I want to come home to you, Octavia, and Bellamy. And I want Clarke to visit on the weekends. I want _you_ , Marcus.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” she affirms, “we die on the same day remember,” Abby combs his hair away from his face, and his eyes finally open to meet hers. There’s no wrinkle in between her eyebrows, no tears flowing down her cheeks, no trembling lips. What he sees is the woman who he could no longer imagine his life without.

“I remember,” he tells her gently.

Their lips meet once more in a tantalizingly slow fashion, and builds steadily over the course of seconds. It rises until a frenzy takes over them and suddenly there’s not enough time in the world to be together. There’s not enough time to profess things that cannot take form in words.

The rest of the night is spent between the sheets of that hotel room bed, until the late hours of the next morning. Their skin is marked by each others touch. Their dreams no longer taking place while they slept, for they were living in them now.

* * *

_Three Weeks Later_

When she opens her eyes she can see the shadows of his back, illuminated by the early dawn. There’s a sheer lilac glow, filling the small space of her bedroom. Abby gently moves her body to hold him back against her. Her palm finding the spot above his heart, as he subconsciously takes her hand within his own.

She knows even if she shuts her eyes, she won’t be able to sleep. There’s just too much rattling around in her brain. Clarke leaving in less than six hours. Presenting a step by step description of Reese’s surgery to the board at the end of next week. And putting her house up for sale quite soon.

The one thing not causing her any inner turmoil, was but a few centimeters away. She felt his gentle heartbeat strumming her fingertips. He had let himself into the house sometime after midnight, her exhaustion from last minute errands with Clarke and Octavia making it hard for her to wait up for him. So, she let him sleep, shutting her eyes behind him, and enjoying the simplicity of the quiet house.

 _Husband._ She tosses the word around in her head as she draws light circles on his skin. _Hello, I’m Abby and this is my husband Marcus._ Then almost embarrassingly she blushes at the thought of changing her name once again. _Mr. and Mrs. Kane this way please. Abigail Marie Kane. Abigail Marie Griffin-Kane. Abby Kane. Dr. Kane. Ugh I feel like a thirteen-year-old writing in her diary_ , Abby thinks, forcing herself to change the trail of thought in her own head.

As the light grew stronger in the room, Abby knew her alarm would wake them both up at any minute. Then just as she thought it, her phone rang through the room, and she quickly reached behind her to clutch the thin object between her hands and silence it immediately.

Marcus rustled underneath her bed covers, and moved to lay on his stomach, stretching his arms underneath his pillow, and turning to face Abby with a sleepy smile.

“Go back to sleep,” she told him tenderly.

“I got like four hours, I’m fine Abby,” he mumbled even though he closed his eyes and dug his cheek further into the pillow, “give me like five minutes and I’ll start breakfast.”

Abby reaches to move stray strands of hair away from his face and leans down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll go wake up Clarke, you get Octavia.”

Then just like he’s seen many times before, Abby swings her legs over the edge of the bed and slides down until her feet hit the floor. He watches her lift her arms above her head, stretching the muscles in her shoulders and back. She leans down to pick up the cotton shorts she’d taken off sometime in the night and slides them on.

Marcus pushes himself to sit up, and Abby disappears into the bathroom. He can hear the water from the sink, and in no time she’s back trying to find the two mismatching socks she peeled off her feet before going to bed. He feels one under his leg and tosses it at her, while she finds the other. Abby slips the one gray sock and the one pale blue sock on before heading out of the bedroom.

Marcus hears the gentle knock on the door only down the hall, and he twists his spine right and left, exhaling contently when he hears his lower back pop. With that he makes his way over to his drawer in Abby’s dresser, pulling out black cotton joggers and a gray t-shirt. He dresses quickly, brushes his teeth, washes his face, and prepares to wake Octavia.

He passes by Clarke’s room, and sighs before cracking open the door to the small guest bedroom, letting the dim light of the hallway enter Octavia’s sleeping space. She’s sprawled out on the twin bed, her phone at arms reach, and her overnight duffel spewing cords for her many electronic devices.

The light hits her face and she mumbles, “Five minutes.”

“Get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast,” he tells her.

She lifts her hand into a thumbs up before rolling over to face the wall.

“We’ll leave without you,” he warns her, even though they won’t, “ _get up_.”

Marcus heads downstairs to start the coffee. A few minutes later he hears Abby waking Octavia up again. More time passes while he checks emails on his phone, and then he sees Abby at the doorway of the kitchen.

“She hasn’t moved,” she tells him matter of factly, passing his frame to grab the eggs and bacon from the fridge. They say nothing more as Marcus lays his phone down on the counter before jogging upstairs. He sees Clarke packing up the last of her things, and pushes the door to Octavia’s room all the way.

“Octavia!” he states loudly.

“I’m up, I’m up!” she proclaims as she sits up drastically. But Marcus has already flipped the light on, and turned the fan off. Octavia’s groan is the last thing he hears before he turns to leave the room. Marcus returns to the kitchen, to find Abby has already cracked all the eggs and turned the stove on.

“Hey I can take over,” he tells her, “make sure Clarke has everything.”

With one small peck on his lips, Abby leaves him with the rest of breakfast and heads back upstairs. He checks his phone one more time, before moving it away from the area of food as he begins cooking. The smell of bacon begins to roam through the house, and Octavia sluggishly makes her way down the stairs in athleisure wear, her duffel in hand.

“You’re not even dressed yet,” she comments when she passes by Marcus and as he hands her a slice of burnt bacon. Then Octavia makes her way over to the living room, tossing her bag, plopping down on the couch, and pulling her hoodie over her eyes.

As he continues cooking, Clarke begins to bring her luggage down one at a time, and also snatches a slice of bacon from him. Marcus doesn’t notice when Clarke leaves her cellphone on the kitchen counter, before she jogged upstairs to find her mother.

He struggles to turn off the stove, and begin filling four plates with food. Just as he shuts the door of the fridge with his foot, a jug of orange juice in his hand, a phone rings. It’s not a landline, because Abby got rid of that years ago. It’s the universal ringtone for smartphones _just like his_.

Without so much as glancing at the caller ID, Marcus sets down the orange juice, and answers the phone with agitation. _Who the hell is calling me at six thirty in the morning?_

“Hello?” he asks gruffly into the phone, he tries to pour the juice single-handedly into the glass in front of him but gives up before starting. No immediate answer prompts him to ask again, “Hello, is anybody there?”

Just as he’s about to pull the phone away from his ear and end the call a small calm voice on the other line speaks, “Marcus ... is that you?”

The air from his lungs leaves like it’s been knocked out by a blow to his chest. Marcus grips the edge of the counter with his free palm. He hasn’t heard that voice in years, and yet he knows exactly who sits at the end of it.

“Marcus?” she asks again, and he feels as though he could vomit.

“How did you get this number?” he forces himself to ask in a hard tone, but it comes out weak and full of anxiety.

“Marcus-” she begins softly, but he pulls back the phone and notices it’s not his device to begin with. He doesn’t have a clear case, and he almost laughs at the name on the top of the dial screen -- _Violet_ . Marcus can’t stop his adrenaline, as he pieces together just exactly whose phone he held in his hand. And when it all clicks, he thinks it’s worse than his mother calling _his_ phone. _Why the fuck is she calling Clarke’s phone?_

Before he can hear a word speak from the other end, Clarke appears in front of him, snatching her phone from his hand.

“What are you doing?!” she hisses as she ends the call immediately. If he looked too close he would see the fear in her eyes, although her nose was scrunched in with disgust. 

He stands in front of Clarke, his nostrils flailing to the better of him. He doesn’t know how to even begin asking the right questions to what had just occurred. He thinks rapidly if this is the place to interrogate Clarke. But how can he not, when she leaves to another country in only a few hours? How can he not question Clarke’s complete disregard for the one thing he specifically told her not to do?

“When?” he whispers harshly, invading her space like the shadows of a tree above her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tells him under her breath.

“How long?” he questions again, never moving back, never giving her room to breath.

“I _don’t_ _know_ what you’re talking about,” Clarke states a little louder.

Then she turns on her heel and begins walking out of the kitchen as quick as her feet will allow. But without restraint Marcus raises his voice, “Don’t walk away from me!”

Octavia hears the sharp tone that is only used when she is being an absolute piece of shit, and it causes a shiver to run down her spine. She had been in and out of sleep waiting to be called for breakfast, and believed it was Abby who he had just yelled at.

“You really want to do this here?” Clarke taunted him.

“I want you to tell me how she got your number.”

Clarke doesn't bother to lower her voice anymore, “If you want to know so bad, why don’t you call her yourself?” Clarke holds up her phone and shoves it at him, “Here Kane, you want to know why your mother is-”

“Don’t say that out loud,” he hisses.

“I don’t get it,” Clarke groans allowed, feeling the blood rushing through her veins, “why do you hate her so much?!”

“I don’t hate her!” he fights back.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Abby shouts from behind Clarke.

Marcus stares down at Clarke, begging her not to speak a word of truth to Abby. He pays no attention to the petite woman, wildly looking for someone to answer her. But Clarke is past keeping secrets, and she’s pissed off that he would raise his voice at her so violently. She glances between him and her mother, debating what to do next.

“Don’t do this Clarke,” Marcus says so low Abby can barely make out his sentence.

“She _misses you_ ,” Clarke states, “and you neglect her, and you put your secrets on Bellamy-”

“Stop,” Marcus growls turning away from them, his hands rising to cup the back of his head, as he feels every muscle in his upper body tighten.

Clarke continues raising her voice as she goes on, “and you ignore her for a mistake you made _when you were a boy_.”

“You know nothing of the mistakes I’ve made!” Marcus yells wildly turning to her, his finger only mere centimeters from Clarke’s face.

“Hey!” Abby calls out to him. Her hands reach up to the middle of his chest, her body separating him from Clarke only a few feet away. Abby can feel his wild breath under her hands, and she can see the veins in his neck straining.

“Who are you to go meddling in someone else’s business Clarke?” Marcus lunges forward again, as if Abby pushing him back does nothing, as if he doesn’t see her at all.

“Clarke, what did you do?” Abby’s head whips to look at her daughter.

Abby notices that look of fear on Clarke’s face; she hasn’t seen it since Jake would scold her for her poor attitude. But it was never as simple as Clarke being afraid of her father's stern voice. It was the added feeling of shame. Shame for causing her father to steep to such low standards such as yelling at her from the top of his lungs.

It dawned on Clarke, as she looked at her mothers' concerned expression to Marcus’s agonized one, that she had fucked up. That now all the secrets had to come to light. That she had no place in his story, and even less to be the one to force an unveiling of a lifelong secret. But here she was, left with no choice but to do it anyway because of her own selfish decisions.

Clarke looked across the pathway to her mother, “The night of the hospital gala, his mother left a voicemail on our machine. It was from a different number than he said to never answer. I wanted to know why he kept her hidden. Why he paid for her living at _Eden Care_ , but never brought her up. So I visited her the Saturday you went out of town to one of Octavia’s tournaments. That’s why she has my number, and that’s who just called me. But he answered my phone instead.”

Marcus listens intently at Clarke’s disclosure. A simple voicemail. One simple voicemail, has spiraled this.

“Clarke,” Abby whispered disbelieving of the confession laid before her, “it’s not your place to insert yourself into their relationship. His mother didn’t want to be a part of their lives and that’s her decision.”

Clarke can’t open her mouth. She can’t even look at her mom, as a single tear runs down her cheek, and she wipes it before it can fall to the floor.

“But that’s not the truth is it?” a voice questions from behind Marcus.

He doesn’t turn to face Octavia, who leans against the open doorway, her arms crossed in front of her, staring at no one but her father’s back. He can’t bear to look at the daughter he had lied to for the past twelve years.

“No,” Marcus’s head falls, “it’s not.”

He feels Abby’s hands leave his body. When she takes a big step away from him, his arms reach out for her, but at the touch of nothing they slump against his sides. Marcus knows there’s no running away from this, but the look on Abby’s face makes him fear the ending of this story.

Marcus turns to Octavia, his right hand holding the counter next to him for support. It’s devastating for Clarke to see him weak before his daughter. She’d seen this same man, nose to nose, eye to eye, strong and steady, even when he was caught off guard, he would stand up tall in the face of man and woman alike. But just as she thought it, he pulled back his shoulders, raised his chin, and began in a deep smooth voice.

“When I left Mecha Park, your grandmother gave me a silver necklace with a cross hanging from it,” he tries to make eye contact with Abby, answering her question from months ago, but she doesn’t answer his look so he continues. “She was strong in her faith, and the thing about a small town is that everyone knows you and vice versa. My mother spent every moment she could at that church, and evidently I went with her.”

Marcus takes a deep breath, “That means as a boy I got labeled a lot of names. It made me resent your grandmother, our home, and her faith. I wanted nothing more than to leave the town that deemed my mother too invested, overtly spiritual, and a lot more horrible names than I can count. The worst part was that she wasn’t … my mother never forced a religion on anyone, ever, not even on her own son.”

He pauses, letting the memories of his childhood be remembered in full color, before continuing, “My world in university was day and night from my life at home. Back then I thought it was amazing. Living life fast, ditching holidays to go skiing with friends rather than going back home to mom. Spending summers abroad with colleagues who would pay for me to go backpacking through Europe on their parents dime.”

Marcus’s throat tightens, his next words coming out hollow.

“Parents who were CFOs, and Presidents of higher education institutions, and government officials. They always turned to me and asked what _business_ my family was in. I said my mother was a teacher, and not even that was true. Her job was the church and God knows the money flow from that was not enough.”

“I told her not to bother with attending my graduation …” he murmurs, “that I didn’t think I even wanted to walk across the stage. I have pictures from that day … surrounded by people I haven’t spoken to in the last five years. But whose parents referred me to graduate programs so easily, it was like I asked to borrow a pen. And that’s when I realized _that’s_ how the world works. It’s ugly, and I’m going to hate myself for it, but _that’s how it works_.”

“I started chipping away at any image of the boy from Mecha Park, until I was unrecognizable.” His mind floods with the version of himself he hated the most, “Then I got you Octavia … and the first thing I wanted to do was call my mother. _How the hell am I going to be a father?_ I thought. And I knew the one person in the whole world, who would know what to tell me, would be my mom. I needed my mom.”

“I hadn’t spoken to her in almost four years. I ignored her calls, I disrespected her love, I lied about who she was, and who she wasn’t. I was _undeserving_ of her forgiveness. So I never called, because she didn’t need a son to pop up at her house trailing a child and asking for help. And a part of me knew that if I were to have knocked on her door, she wouldn’t have turned me away, and eventually I would have left you with her, because she wouldn’t have said no … after all of this time … I knew she would take you in.”

Marcus thinks of her mother meeting a small Octavia and Bellamy, and pushes the thought far away from his conscious.

“So I never called, and a lot of good that did me right?” Marcus clears his throat, running a shaking hand at the back of his head, “I finished my last trial as a fuck up, and I went back for you Octavia. We moved to Arkadia, and with each added year I thought about telling you. But I had just got you back, and I couldn’t explain to a child just how horrible of a father they had inherited, when I was trying to be anything but _that_. So more time passed, and the more our family grew, the more ridiculous I thought it would be to introduce you to your grandmother. I thought it was too late and above all, I thought I had finally gotten it right … with you and Bellamy.”

“In my mind, even now, I struggle with the idea of coming clean and opening all those wounds I tried so hard to bury with my mom. I believed I had hurt her so bad, that I could no longer go back. So I lied to you. Then your grandma got sick, and I was still listed as her emergency contact. I set her up at _Elysium Homes_ , and now she’s at _Eden Care_. But I haven’t spoken a word to her in years.”

His last sentence leaves the room in utter silence. A ticking time bomb on the first to erupt. Or the first to leave. But then Octavia’s voice cuts against the white noise.

“So you met her then?” Octavia’s tone is sharp as her eyes find Clarke’s across the room.

“I-” Clarke begins but can’t find a stream of words to create even the smallest of explanations.

“It’s a simple question Clarke,” Octavia practically snarls, and the young girl can feel the blood inside her boiling. With every word her father spoke, with every tear that glacially fell down Clarke’s face, and with every deep inhale she saw Abby take -- Octavia became more and more furious.

“Yes,” Clarke answered in a hushed tone.

Marcus watched as the anger in Octavia’s eyes turned into pain. A roaring tremendous ache that caused Octavia to clutch her abdomen. She didn’t want to feel the chill of several needles stabbing her chest, or the invisible hands pressing down on her throat. Suddenly Octavia felt light-headed, and with every large breath she tried to take, it only felt like a sliver of oxygen entered her passageway. She heard herself wheeze repeatedly, and it did nothing to calm her nerves. _Why can’t I breathe?_ Octavia thought. _Why can’t I breathe?_

Quick to race to the girls side, Abby held Octavia’s shoulders in her hands. “Octavia,” Abby called for her attention, “babe look at me,” she told Octavia, “ _look at me_ ,” Abby repeated in a hard tone.

“Is she alright?” Marcus asked, taking a step closer to the both of them. Abby paid him no attention as she moved Octavia’s hair behind her ears, repeating that movement in slow hard ministrations.

“Breathe,” Abby cooed, “breathe.”

Abby watched Octavia’s dilated pupils slowly return to normal, as her shoulders rose and fell dramatically with every deep breath she reminded her to take. Just as Abby started to see the anxiety leaving Octavia with each strum of her fingers against the young girls temple, a voice murmured from behind them.

“Octavia, just calm down.”

The tone of Clarke’s voice meant well, but it struck a different nerve in Octavia. Abby grabbed a hold of Octavia’s arms within her hands, as she felt Octavia’s muscles tense underneath her fingers. Octavia clenched her hands into fists at her side, and finally gave in to all the anger and pain that had built up through her father and Clarke’s confessions.

“Are you kidding me?” Octavia’s harsh voice struck a chord in each one of their chests, “I just found out that I’ve been lied to almost _my whole life_. And you want me to calm down?”

“Octavia-” Clarke’s rebuttal is drowned out by a violent, “No!”

Octavia’s voice echoes so loud that Abby flinches, but her hands never fall from holding Octavia steadily in place. “You got a parent who didn’t bring home one night stands almost every week, who didn’t shove you to the side for work, and give you to your brothers family because he couldn’t handle it!” And although he knows they’re well past this part of their lives, her words slice through Marcus’s heart.

“How _fucked up_ is that!” Octavia almost laughs and she knows that the words that are spewing from her mouth are made simply to cause pain. She just wants to _hurt_ her father and Clarke. “You got Abby! And I got _him_.”

Her words cut deep, and Marcus tries hard to hold his calm facade, gulping at the sting in his throat that yearns for him to cry out. Without looking at him Abby is certain that Marcus is seconds from cracking. But she doesn’t turn her head to confirm.

“Not only that,” Octavia digs up her final release of anger, “you got to meet Vera. Before me! Her _actual_ granddaughter, who she thinks probably _hates her_ because I thought she wanted nothing to with me!”

“She doesn’t think that,” Clarke fights to respond and explain Vera’s side, but no answer, no story, no condolence can make Octavia listen to what Clarke has to say, and it begins to light a fire in Clarke. “She didn’t even know he had children!”

The room hushes so drastically that Clarke knows within moments the truth has once again only dug her a deeper hole. She internally scolds herself for seeing red, when it wasn’t her place to get angry or frustrated to begin with.

“Well that’s great,” Octavia says dryly, her eyes flashing to meet her father’s, “can’t hate someone you didn’t know existed.”

“That’s not how I,” Clarke tries to gather her thoughts once more.

“Stop Clarke,” Marcus begs her through gritted teeth, “just stop.”

“But Vera-”

“Clarke, enough!” Abby’s voice is cold.

Clarke can only make out her mothers profile, watching as she never lets go of Octavia. Probably in fear that Octavia would advance towards either her or Marcus, both well deserving of the physical confrontation.

“Go upstairs and make sure you have everything,” Abby tells Clarke.

“Mom, you know I have everything,” Clarke murmurs.

“Go, upstairs,” Abby pronounces each syllable hard.

Clarke opens her mouth to reply, but reluctantly closes it and turns to make her way hastily out of the room. The three left standing hear Clarke’s footsteps go up the stairs, and the inevitable shut of her bedroom door.

“Octavia,” Marcus is able to gather enough of himself to speak.

“Just don’t,” Octavia replies, “I’m so mad at you,” her voice cracks, “you haven’t let me down since we moved here, and I’m,” Octavia breathes quickly for air, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, “I’m so angry.”

“It’s okay to be angry Octavia,” Abby tells her, and for a fleeting moment Marcus feels like they’re on the same side.

They stand for a good while in quiet. No one with the faintest clue of how to proceed. A million thoughts are running through each of their heads, and there’s no way to make sense of any of it with so many details between the other to deal with. Marcus looks at Octavia; tense shoulders, shaking foot, fidgety hands, and tight jaw. His eyes fall on Abby, her hair falling over her shoulder. Abby’s sight stays on Octavia, while her hands move slowly up and down the girls arms. Her breath incredibly calm; he can tell from the slow rise and fall of her chest. It’s not right.

“Octavia can you leave me with Abby for a few minutes,” her fathers voice is the first to speak, a somber request, prepared for complete backlash. Abby’s hands freeze, her gaze finding the floor.

“And go where exactly?” Octavia bites, “Upstairs with Clarke, to apologize?”

“You don’t need to apologize to Clarke,” Abby’s voice is soft, “she’s not in the right either.”

Octavia and Marcus share a look, and for all the shitty things he has done in his life, Octavia bites the bullet. Not for him, but for Abby, she makes her way out the front door.

Abby turns towards Marcus glacially, but her eyes never lift from her feet. She leans back against one of the countertops, her arms crossing in front of her chest. Abby can feel him staring at her from across the few feet of space they have in between them. She clenches the fingers around her arms tighter, holding herself together. The silence makes her more aware of the growing lump in her throat. She moves stray hairs that fall down the side of her face behind her ear, and then returns back to her previous stance.

“Abby, look at me,” Marcus tells her, his tone rough. He undeniably wants her to listen to him.

She makes no move to lift her head. She utters no sound. He aches to close the steps between them, hold her face in his hands, look her in the eye even if all he sees is contempt, but he can’t find it in him.

“Look at me please love,” he pleads breathlessly.

Abby’s head shakes side to side in a minuscule fashion he nearly misses it.

Then she opens her mouth enough to say, “I can’t.”

He holds his breath as she continues in a hoarse voice, “I can’t. Because if I look at you, I won’t forgive you and I,” she pauses, gripping her arms between her fingers harder, “I really really want to forgive you, Marcus.”

His name between her lips comes out torn, like it hurts her to say it out loud. It twists his insides unbearably.

“Just like I have before,” she whispers, “but you make it _so hard_ ,” Abby reaches up to place a hand on the top of her chest. The sparkling ring stabbing him in the gut, “and this is not like the times before Marcus.”

This time his name comes out cold. He’s afraid she’ll never be able to say his name the way he adores again. He fears the loss of ever hearing it said with love.

“Baby-”

“You don’t keep things like your mother a secret from your children,” Abby fidgets with the collar of her shirt, “or from _your fiance._ ”

“I would have told you,” he fights back tensely, “eventually I would have told you.”

Abby bites down on her lips, now vigorously shaking her head, “I don’t believe you.” He hates to admit that he doesn’t completely believe himself either.

“Abby please,” Marcus clenches his hands incredibly tight, he can feel them start to numb.

“We were going to get married,” she whispers so broken, she has to squeeze her eyes shut from crying.

With that Marcus pushes himself away from the kitchen island, and grasps Abby against her better wishes towards him. One hand pulling at her waist, the other hand cupping her cheek for her to look at him. Abby hates herself for leaning into his touch, a natural thing she can no longer fight. She leans into all of him, clutching the bottom of his shirt within her hands, feeling the fabric wrinkle between her fingers. Her nose dives into his chest, caressing the soft cotton. His hands threading through her silky hair, begging for her to lift her eyes to him.  

“Don’t say that,” Marcus pleads, pulling her away to look down at her, as she pulls him closer, afraid to see him. He wants to say _they still can_ , but he’s not sure of that, because she won’t even look at him. If he could just look at her, he could gauge what she was thinking, feeling, on the verge of saying. If she would just lift her chin up to him, he could _try_.

Marcus feels her hands turn into hard fists at his core, and then Abby pulls back. Her eyes finally meet his, and it’s nothing like he believed. There are no dried tears. There is no sadness. Instead, her dark irises glow with heartache, anguish, and pain.

“You _lied_ to me,” she snaps, pushing him away from her, and this time he does stumble a few feet back. “That night I said Octavia had told me about Vera, you _knew_ ,” Abby’s voice raises, and she steps forwards finding his chest and pushing him back again, “You had a chance to tell me the truth, and instead you chose to _finally_ tell me about your early issues with Octavia. Not because you wanted to, but because in your twisted mind it was the last wall between you and I! Because Octavia had taken care of explaining Vera,” Abby accuses him, taking another step forward.

This time when she raises her arms because all she wants to do is physically get all this pain and hurt out of her body, he grabs her forearms in his hands. They struggle against each other, and when her right arms pushes his left far back, his elbow knocks over the glass he’d set down before answering the phone minutes ago. Together they watch as it slides off the edge, and in slow motion races towards the ground, breaking before them with a loud crash. The noise makes them stop and note the position they had found themselves in. Him gripping her wrists so forcefully, the skin underneath his fingers was white. She continuing to try and fight him.

As soon as Marcus sees how small her wrists look in between his hands, how fragile, he releases them with wide eyes. Abby chides herself for giving into the weight of her emotions, clutching her hands against her sides, and taking a step away from him.

“Abby,” Marcus murmurs, “I am sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she shakes her head, looking down once again at the floor, “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“God Abby not that” Marcus runs a hand through the back of his head frustrated, “if you need to shove me, shove me. I won’t try to stop you this time. I deserve it. But God, please don’t say we’re not going to get married.”

Marcus doesn’t approach her, he won’t unless she tells him it’s okay, “I need you Abby.” His voice is small, weary, as he continues, “you know that baby. I can’t live knowing you’re out there without me. I’ll take a million years of you not looking at me, if you just forgive me please.”

Abby plays with her fingers, ticking away at the cuticles of her nails.

“Please,” he whispers, “there’s nothing left. There’s no more of me hidden. There’s nothing that you don’t know.”

“It’s not enough,” she replies quietly, “you knew I would never make you talk about it, and you were going to start a life with me built on the lies you’ve made your family on. But now what?” she looks up at him, “We pretend your mother doesn’t want to be in your life? We pretend Clarke didn’t break her contract? We pretend you didn’t lie? We pretend that Octavia didn’t put herself second again for you to choose to fix things with me instead of her?”

“Abby-”

“You’re as broken as they come,” she says before she can talk herself out of it, “and I can’t fix you.”

Her words don’t hurt on impact. They take time to nestle their way into his skin, his nerves, his blood, until he can feel the pain in all parts of his body. He watches her reach for her ring with a shaky hand, taking more time to slip it off her finger. His chest implodes, as she looks down at it one last time, biting her bottom lip roughly between her teeth. Abby takes one small step towards him, and holds the shiny Tiffany ring in her palm upwards, imploring him to take it from her hand.

“No,” he shakes his head viciously, his eyes rimming with hot tears, “Abby, no,” he almost growls.

“Please,” she tells him, “don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He roughly closes her fingers up to cup the ring, and pushes her hand back towards her, “keep it.”

“Marcus,” she breathes out, her voice trembling.

“It’s yours,” he looks down at their connected hands, “I got it for you, and only you should have it.”

This time he can’t look at her eyes, as they stare up at him. He only wants to look at their hands, together, for the last time. She watches as tears fall down his cheeks, and then feels the warm water creep through the creases of their joined palms.

“Please,” he shuts his eyes, now holding her one hand with both of his, “never doubt that I love you. I will always love you. And if you ever find it in you to forgive me, to give me another chance, to come back to me … please do.”

Marcus pulls her face towards him one last time, his lips meet the crown of her head, “I love you so much Abby,” he kisses her forehead, “forever.”

Then just as quickly as his lips brush her skin, he’s gone. Pulling away from her, wiping his tears, grabbing his phone and keys, slipping on his shoes, and opening the front door. He can’t look back at Abby. If he does, he’ll see that one tiny moment. And if it’s not what he believes, he’ll crumble far more than he has already.

Octavia watches as her father strides past her, making his way hastily towards the car with a flushed face. He tells her to get in the car, but against his request she sprints back inside the house. She finds Abby holding her abdomen with one arm, clutching herself tightly, and the hand of her other arm covers her mouths silent sobs.

“Abby,” Octavia called quietly from behind her.

Abby straightens her posture as soon as the girls voice hits her ears. She wipes her sweaty palms on her shorts, runs a hand through her hair, and turns to face Octavia. It doesn’t take long for Octavia to see the broken glass on the floor, Abby’s stained cheeks, and a lonely engagement ring on the island of the kitchen.

“You’re going to forgive him right?” Octavia asks fearfully. Abby doesn’t immediately answer her and it prompts Octavia to move closer and practically plead, “You can’t just break up,” Octavia shakes her head wildly, “you guys are _engaged_ ,” she grips Abby’s hands, “you can’t do this.”

“Octavia,” Abby murmurs, “it’s more complicated than forgiveness.”

“Well then give him a few days,” Octavia says through her teeth, “or weeks, I don’t care. But he needs you! I need you.”

“What you need,” Abby takes her hands away from Octavia’s grip and holds the young girls face in her hands, “is to work all this out with your father.”

“You can’t just not be there Abby,” Octavia croaks, “you can’t just leave me. Please,” Octavia pulls Abby into her arms, clutching her tightly, “don’t leave me. Not now.”

Abby holds Octavia, brushing her hair back tenderly, before saying, “We’ll work something out you and I, okay? We’ll work something out honey.”

* * *

Octavia left her house only minutes after that, not knowing the next time she’d see Abby. But knowing no matter if her father and Abby worked it out, Abby wouldn’t abandon her. As she sat quietly in the back seat of her fathers car, she could hear every intake of breath, and clench of his jaw. She hadn’t forgiven him yet, not by a mile, and she didn’t know when she would. In fact, she didn’t exactly know how it was going to be from this moment on. But, she had faith. And maybe that’s something she got from her grandma.

* * *

Abby turned into the airport, both her hands gripping the steering wheel. She didn’t try to think about the airplanes flying over their heads, or how it felt to hear them so close by again. She didn’t try to think about her bare left hand taunting her. But regardless of how much she tried, she failed over and over again. She had turned on the radios pop station to drown out arriving airplanes, and cooly leaned her left elbow against her door, tugging gently at her ponytail, as she steered with only her right hand.

“American Airlines right?” Abby asked, already knowing the answer.

Clarke merely nodded, unable to speak with the lump in her throat. It had been this way the whole drive over. So tense, it would leave the both of them exhausted when they finally arrived at the drop off lane for departures.

“You’re not going to park and walk with me until security?” Clarke managed to ask, when she noticed her mom take the unfamiliar right rather than the left.

“Your take off won’t be long now,” Abby shakes her head, “you don’t need me slowing you down.”

Abby pulls up to the curb, reaching for the gear shift to place the car in park. Just as she does, and is about to let go, Clarke traps her hand against the cool leather. Abby grips the gear shift tighter, every millisecond Clarke doesn’t let go.

“Mom I’m sorry,” Clarke begins to apologize, “I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I didn’t know she was going to call before I left.”

“Clarke,” Abby says looking at her daughters distraught blue eyes, “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Well I’m not leaving unless you _talk_ to me,” Clarke tells her.

Abby removes her hand from under Clarke’s, and reaches back to tighten her ponytail, running a tired hand over her face. “What do you want me to say Clarke? That I’m fine? That I didn’t just find out the man I love lied to me, and had every intention of keeping that lie. That I’m not extremely disappointed my daughter poked her head in a business that wasn’t hers to go looking for?”

“I did was right,” Clarke argued back, “for you. I had to find out, _for you._ ”

“ _Do not_ use me as an excuse for your actions,” Abby raised her voice at Clarke, “and you did not do _what was right_ . You did what you thought needed to be done. It wasn’t right to go visit his mom, no matter your reasons. Because it wasn’t just _you_ and _me_ , Clarke. It was _Octavia_ and _Bellamy_ and _Vera_ . What are they going to do now? You’ve forced him to figure out _when_ and _how_ or _if_ he should introduce Octavia to his mother. You’ve made him confront his biggest demon, without his consent. You’ve forced that confrontation not only on him, but on me. On Octavia.”

“Well it’s what he needed to do in the end anyway!” Clarke practically yells.

“Yes, but it wasn’t your hand to force, don’t you get that?” Abby cries out.

“I know, I know,” Clarke’s head falls into her palms, “I’m sorry!”

“You thought it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Abby whispers, “and you have to face the consequences of that decision when it doesn’t end in your favor.”

With that Abby pushes open her door, and heads to the trunk. She pulls out Clarke’s large suitcase and her carry-on, and places them on the curbside, after shutting her trunk closed. She patiently waits for Clarke to gather her backpack, and empty the remnants of water from her plastic bottle on the street.

When she sees her daughter face to face again, it will have been six months. It didn’t feel like an eternity when she still had him. They were supposed to drop off Clarke _together_. They were supposed to start moving her stuff to his house. He was supposed to be there when she had to present to the board in a couple of days. He was supposed to be here with her.

In a matter of two hours, everything had changed, and suddenly Abby couldn’t be there any longer, as the sound of another arriving plane reached her ears. It hurt too much.

Clarke stood in front of her, prepared to leave, and Abby quickly pulled her daughter into her arms, and then just as hastily released her.

“I love you Clarke,” Abby said one last time, “be safe, and text me when you land.”

Then all Clarke was left to do, was watch her mother wipe her rosy cheeks, head back inside the car, and drive away. No her mother wasn’t fine. Not in the slightest.

Just as Clarke raised her chin, trying not to let the emotions of today get the best of her, her phone buzzed. She lifted the screen to read the text message, and felt that same knot in her throat tighten once again.

_Bellamy: What the hell did you do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to cause myself pain. A necessary pain. (I'm sorry to cause you pain if I did ...) I promise I won't rob you of Clarke and Bellamy's meeting with Vera (for good reason). I'm playing with a weird time jump thing. 
> 
> Okay, for real this time. I have three chapters left. Thank you for reading! I'm so happy to experiment this far with this idea, and your views, comments, and kudos have really driven that. Also, special thanks to fire-of-the-sun, Shannon, for helping me out with Abby's middle name!


	18. The Time In Between - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my outline, these two parts were under a single chapter. But somehow I ended up with a million more words than I accounted for. I struggled with deleting specific parts -- and decided literally no harm would come from keeping everything (I think matters) in the story. (But if it does bother you, apologies in advance.)
> 
> Thank you, readers, for the ongoing support! I'm trying my best to pay it a million times forward.

It looked like an extravagant old hotel that should be on the edge of a lake somewhere in Europe, and not in the forest of Mecha Park. Made of warm burnt-orange stucco and clay tiled roof shingles. Several rooms had balconies with lush greenery growing in pots. The inside foyer had a black stoned waterfall, with water shooting out of cherubs trumpets, and massive oriental rugs laid out on the wooden floors. 

They were greeted by a young man in dark jeans and white dress shirt. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked with a smile. 

Bellamy stayed silent and looked down at Clarke, but she was doing the exact same to him. HEr blue eyes pleaded him to take control, and they sparred for three tense seconds before Bellamy turned back to the man, “We’re here to see Vera Kane.”

Even if he had tried, the man would have failed horribly at hiding the shock in his face, before clearing his throat, “Ms. Kane has never had visitors.”

“I’m her grandson,” Bellamy crossed his arms in front of his chest and decided to use the means he knew would get them through the door faster.

The man nodded, avoiding eye contact, “Absolutely, I’ll lead you to reception,” he began walking towards a mahogany desk, “they’ll check your ID, give you a visitor pass, and in the meantime I’ll go see where Vera is. She’s probably in the garden, but I’ll just double check and let her know she has guests.”

“Can you not say grandchildren?” Clarke quickly piped up with a fake smile, “It’s a surprise.”

He’s hesitant when he answers, “of course,” and then turns to walk in the opposite direction.

Bellamy’s name checks out with the receptionist, and only five minutes later they’re both set with a visitors pass clipped onto the collar of their shirts. Clarke’s stomach hasn’t stopped turning since the moment she walked through the automatic glass doors of the retirement home.  _ How would she look like? What kind of a person will she be? Will she even let us approach her?  _

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy’s voice brings Clarke back to reality, as he leans over the counter to talk to the receptionist, “but my father wasn’t clear on her condition. All I know is that she was moved here because she got worse … was it her …?” he looks at the woman hoping she will fill in his blanks. 

“Immune system,” the girl answers him softly, “it’s getting weaker with age.”

A part of Bellamy takes peace in the fact that it’s not a disease. He sees that same relaxation in Clarke, as they follow the first man through the common area and out to the back. It’s a nice fresh day with shade from the clouds and the smell of roses surrounding them while their feet follow the cement path into the tall bushes. 

“There she is,” the man turns to them with a faint smile. His eyes lead them to a woman sitting by a small cement table, broken shards of glass creating a mosaic on the top of it. “If you need anything, there’s always someone nearby.”

The two of them nod silently, as he leaves them alone to look at the back of a one Vera Kane. She’s calmly tracing the pattern of the table, her cream cashmere cardigan blending with the beauty of the garden. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Bellamy murmurs, his jaw-achingly tight.

“It’s going to be fine,” Clarke assures him, although her knees feel as though they’ll give out any moment.

Together they approach Vera slowly and within seconds her gaze from the bright colors of the tables mosaic lifts to them. Bellamy’s throat closes at the sight of her dark irises, a carbon copy of Marcus’. Her skin so delicately colored like her sweater, but her cheeks flushed a pale pink. They don’t know her, and she doesn’t know them, but even this can’t stop the smile that lifts her lips. 

“Hello,” her voice is low, comforting, like a song you’d never heard but always knew.

Clarke looks up at Bellamy, hoping he could muster up enough strength to begin explaining who they were, but he’s frozen in time. Unable to look at Vera for more than a few seconds, his eyes blink from his feet to her in rotations.

“Hi,” Clarke greets her gently, “we’re sorry to bother you-”

“Oh,” Vera puts up her hands, waving Clarke off, “I can’t be bothered on a day like this. I’m just surprised.”

“As you should be,” Clarke laughed, “this is Bellamy,” she turns to the young man who has awkwardly crossed his arms in front of himself. “And I’m Clarke.”

Vera nods her eyes never leaving Bellamy, “Happy to meet you, I’m Vera. You two should have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Clarke whispers, as she practically forces Bellamy to sit down next to her. 

“May I ask why you’ve come to visit? I’m not sure we’ve ever met,” Vera inquires. 

This time Bellamy clears his throat, “No, we haven’t met.”

Clarke shoots him a glare, before leaning forward on the table, her hands holding the other. “I work for your son … Marcus.”

Vera’s expression freezes, unable to conjure an emotion beyond unexpectancy. However, she recovers quite quickly, a trait Clarke immediately ties to her son, “Have I done something to upset him?” 

And the honest worried question rips a hole in Clarke’s heart.  _ I’ve just opened Pandora’s box, _ she thinks.

Bellamy’s voice, matching the tranquil tone of Vera’s earlier greetings, brings Clarke back to the present, “You’ve done nothing wrong. If anything, we’re the ones he’ll be upset at.”

Vera stares at the duo, only forming more questions in her mind, no clearer on who these young adults before her were, or why they were here on a Saturday morning. 

“Okay,” Vera murmurs, “you work for my son,” her eyes flow to Bellamy, “and you do as well?”

And it shouldn’t hurt Bellamy; her complete unawareness of his existence, as it so innocently flew from her lips. It should have been something he expected. So when she reaches out to touch his clenched fist, above the red stained glass on the table, his eyes clamped shut. His lungs burned with fresh air, as she simply squeezed his rough hand beneath her dainty skin.

“You know him beyond the man in the suit,” Vera tells him softly. 

Bellamy feels a shiver run through his body, his eyelids fluttering open, “How can you know that?”

Vera smiles wryly, “You hold yourself like he did as a young man. Your mannerisms practically identical.”

Bellamy fights Vera’s knowing gaze, staring at the wall of rose bushes behind her, “We’re not biologically related. How can I have his traits?” 

“Because he  _ raised  _ you,” Clarke whispered. 

Bellamy feels Vera’s hand above his tighten, and when he meets her eyes, he can’t help but share a moment of clarity with the older woman. Then his sisters colored green eyes flash before him, and he can’t help but think if she sees Marcus in him,  _ imagine how much of Octavia she’ll attach to him _ . But she didn’t know about Octavia.

Clarke speaks up once more, “You left a voicemail to his office … when he won the award from the Children’s Hospital … I heard it.”

“And you weren’t supposed to,” Vera concluded, nodding slowly. 

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, “but you called from a different phone number. The original number he had your contact under, was set to be … blocked,” Clarke hesitated, “So when your voice came through, I wasn’t expecting the number he had asked me to ignore … to be his mother.”

Bellamy tenses at Clarke’s side, not liking the almost monstrous picture of Marcus, Clarke was painting. Vera takes a moment to consider what Clarke has just said, pulling the cardigan around her a bit tighter. 

“And you’ve come here to find out why,” Vera infers. 

Both Clarke and Bellamy tentatively nod.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that to him,” Vera murmurs, “it’s his truth to share with you, Bellamy. And to you Clarke; I understand your curiosity, but you work for my son, and I find this might cause you more trouble in the end.”

Clarke nods, her bottom lip pursing out, “He’s in love with my mother.”

Vera’s eyes widen, and neither of them misses the way her mouth lifts subtly at its edges, “My Marcus, in love?” 

“Completely, ridiculously, horribly in love,” Bellamy affirms in a strong tone. 

Vera sits back, her hand clasping together atop her heart, a bright smile gracing her face. 

Clarke grins back, “Her name is Abigail, but she goes by Abby.” 

“Abigail,” Vera whispers, “What a darling name. Did he meet your mother through you? Or you started working for him after they got together?” now she was being the curious one. 

“I didn’t even introduce them,” Clarke confessed a small laugh following, “they kind of just gravitated towards each other after I started working there.”

Vera could hardly conceal the joy illuminating from her, “It was fate.”

“Yeah neither of them would buy that,” Bellamy laughed, “they both like to think they have control over everything.”

“I have pictures if you want to see,” Clarke offers softly, her hand already reaching into her satchel for her phone.

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” Clarke answers Vera. Bellamy peers over her shoulder as she opens up the photo album app. He points at the group shot of all of them at Octavia’s birthday dinner. Clarke turns her head, silently asking him if he’s sure this is the way to introduce Octavia. Bellamy nods only once. 

With no further affirmation, Clarke scoots her chair over to be at the side of Vera, before she lifts the phone up for examination. Vera stays silent as her eyes graze over each face in the photo.

“Your mother is beautiful,” Vera whispers, “he looks so happy,” she adds only a second later. Then her eyes fall on the young teenage girl, in between Abby and Clarke. “Is she …” Vera’s voice fades, unable to finish the question. 

“Her name’s Octavia,” Bellamy answers the unfinished question, “his biological daughter.”

They see tears spring to the side of Vera’s eyes, and she reaches out for Bellamy’s hand once more. “How old?” she asks quietly.

“Just turned sixteen,” Bellamy states. 

Vera gets lost for a moment in her head, piecing unspoken puzzles together. For once, Bellamy simply lets the words that he so critically filters in his head, out. He shares their past; how Marcus hid Vera’s identity until Bellamy found a letter in the mail from her provider years ago. He shared Marcus’s initial difficulty raising his daughter alone. He shared his concern for his fathers' lifestyle; never being able to let anyone in past a single night, until Abby. He shared his concerns for how the possibility of losing Abby will definitely send Marcus further down the hole he tried so hard to climb out of. He shared his admiration, however, for  _ exactly how _ far his dad had grown. But, never enough to reveal his whole truth, because that’s why they were evidently here. They wanted to find out what Marcus did that he found so unforgivable.

“Marcus wanted more,” Vera answered solemnly, “and I never blamed him. Mecha Park isn’t for everyone, especially not those with a mind as diplomatic as his. But the thing about my son, is that he became hell-bent on meeting an ideal expectation of a life he placed  _ on his own _ shoulders. He loved the forest behind our house, he loved helping me in the garden, and he loved the small farmers market down the street from the church. Marcus is full of duality … he just always had trouble finding a balance. And when you come from a land of coal and someone presents you with gold, and tells you that you can have all the gold in the world, that you  _ deserve _ it -- that’s fine. But they often don’t care to show you the  _ right _ way, because a lot of people don’t take the right way. They take the path so edged into the Earth, you mold yourself to fit it. And my son … he does deserve a life of love, and happiness, and financial stability. And I never for a moment believed I would completely lose him, and I haven’t. I’m here, aren’t I? Being taken care of by the best staff in the country. I get a vase of sunflowers every birthday, and a vase of poinsettias every Christmas. And they never say who they’re from, but  _ I know _ . And I love my son. And one day he’ll see that when he left, and never looked back all those years ago, he lost his balance. But from what you’ve shared with me, of which I am so grateful for, I can see that he’s found it again. All I’ve ever wanted for him … he now has … so I beg of you, don’t tell him you came, don’t remember me, don’t feel a guilt of which I have never placed on his shoulders. Promise me he will marry that woman he loves, and promise me that you all will live a life supporting each other … if only to keep a balance.”

Clarke and Bellamy walked out of that visitation after hours of bartering, and more pictures, and more stories, conforming to Vera’s one request. Or at least Bellamy did. Clarke couldn’t fathom the idea of Vera never staying updated, so she came back a weekend later, and the weekend after that. At first, Vera resisted, but by the third visitation, Vera couldn’t deny she enjoyed knowing more and more of her sons’ life. Until one morning, she remembered she forgot to wish Clarke a farewell … and heard her sons’ voice for the first time in years, instead. 

Now almost three and a half months since she first laid eyes on her grandson, she was able to meet her granddaughter in the flesh. Octavia’s hesitancy to hug her grandmother left the moment she was pulled into the older woman’s arms. Everything clicked from that moment on, leaving Octavia to speak a million words a minute. Vera’s heart ached at the falling out of Marcus and Abby, but the voice of Octavia sitting next to her, pulling out a laptop to lay at the table they shared, was enough for her to relax her own guilt, if for only a few hours on a Saturday. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Octavia had said, flipping open the laptop, “and you’ve missed sixteen years … so we have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t worry I’ve made a slideshow, but also printed out my favorite pictures, so we can make an album together.” 

They never brought up the fact that Marcus still had yet to visit her himself.

* * *

Juliet stuck the extra key she was given years ago into the cold metal knob of Abby’s front door. It creaked open to a warm home, a moderately clean home. A few granola bar wrappers and empty cups of yogurt left throughout the kitchen. It smelled of coffee, so at least she could infer that Abby had been downstairs early this morning.

The only artifact that left her more than just semi-concerned were the dying bouquet of flowers in the middle of the island. She peered over the small note atop fallen petals that looked like it had been hastily ripped off its placement holder. 

_ Abby, _

_ Wishing you the best on tomorrow’s presentation, and hoping for the outcome you worked so hard for.   _

_ With love, _

_ Marcus _

This particular set of flowers was almost thrown in the trash by Jackson, but he was thirty seconds too late to act. Having the vase in his hands as Abby walked into her office, she thought he was the one to set them down on her desk. She tried to keep the cool expression on her face the moment her eyes met the assortment of blush colored flowers, as she needn’t ask  _ who _ they were from either.

Marcus was smart to send them the day before her meeting with the board. It gave her twenty-four hours to recover from the added sting in her gut that never really went away anymore. Abby told Jackson to make three extra copies of her proposal, hoping it would leave her alone long enough to decide what she wanted to do with the gift. 

In the end, she took them home, had a glass of wine, read his short note, picked up her phone, deleted his contact, even though she knew it from memory, and tried in vain not to look at the picture of him in the snow that she took last December.

The flowers stayed untouched as she went over her notes meticulously. Octavia called around nine that night, and Abby watched her screen light up with the girls' name and vibrate until the very last moment the call ended. It was different now to talk to Octavia, because it was difficult to navigate away from Marcus. Every time she and Octavia spoke she wondered if he was near her, hoping to listen in, or if she was alone, and Abby was left wondering where Marcus could be. Abby loved Octavia, but that didn’t mean talking to her was easy given the circumstances. 

Every time she went through this routine, Octavia would call, Abby would let fear overcome her and not answer, then Abby would roll her shoulders back, and redial.

“Hey sorry I missed your call,” Abby spoke softly, her voice etched with fatigue. 

“No I understand,” Octavia said from the other line, “I just wanted to say good luck.”

“Thank you,” Abby accepted her well wishes, and then came the silence. It always occurred after the initial reason for the call had been taken care of. But it never lasted too long.

“I have tryouts for club next week,” Octavia disclosed, “not like I won’t make the team but I still get nervous.”

“You’ll do great,” Abby consoled her, “just remember to stretch properly.”

Abby could hear Octavia’s eye roll, “I know, I know.”

“Mhm,” Abby’s mouth lifted into a gentle smile. 

“Oh, and …” Octavia’s voice dropped off. Abby held her breath ready for some news or the first of pleadings on behalf of her father. But that’s not what Octavia had to say at all, “Lincoln asked me to prom … so … that’s happening.”

Abby couldn’t help the wide grin that spread through her face, “Honey that’s great!” However, Octavia’s tone didn’t come across as happy, “You sound indifferent?” 

“No I’m excited,” Octavia confirmed quickly, “I just have one concern …” before Abby could reply Octavia took a deep breath and mumbled out quickly, “I’ve never been to a school dance and you know me I don’t even wear dresses and I wouldn’t know where to find one for prom  _ or heels _ and I don’t want to take my dad because  _ absolutely not _ and even though I know you guys haven’t talked I just really need your help finding a dress.”

Abby caught some of the middle, none of the end, because she was trying to remember the beginning, and held the phone hard against her ear as if that would’ve helped her hear better.

“I have no idea what you just said, I’m sorry,” Abby huffed.

Octavia moans at the thought of repeating everything she had just explained and instead goes with the simple question, “Will go with me to find a dress … please?”

“God,” Abby can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, “yes of course.”

That conversation happened almost nine days ago. She didn’t think of Marcus the day of her presentation, and was proud of the way she handled herself. In the end, the board had said they needed more time to go through Abby’s proposal, leaving Abby distressed but not surprised. 

So, seven days ago Abby took up her saved vacation time -- which, shocker, was a lot of days. She checked her email for updates on their decision, but other than that hadn’t made a move to return to work. It worried her closest co-workers, and with Abby gone, Jackson picked up most of her patients. Leaving Juliet to make sure their friend wouldn’t stay in her funk too long.

Without a second thought, Juliet roamed to the living room. A few dusty books lying around. Juliet picked on up one, reading the title:  _ The Lean Startup _ . She tossed it back on the coffee table whispering, “Marcus,” knowing very well it was his, and Abby hadn’t touched any of his things.

No curtain was open. No light switch or lamp had been left on as she made her way up the stairs. She heard voices murmuring, and a soft blue light from underneath Abby’s bedroom door. Juliet had let her know that she was coming over. Abby read it, but didn’t reply. 

So now they were here, separated by an inch of wood. Juliet pushed open the door and sighed at the sight. 

Abby was wrapped in her blankets, pulling the ends of the soft white comforter to her face, her hair left down in untamed waves. Juliet noticed the several mugs left on her nightstands, along with her discarded phone. Abby paid no attention to Juliet, her eyes never leaving the screen of her television. 

Juliet looked to see what exactly kept her so captivated and immediately recognized the film.

“Shouldn’t torture yourself with romcoms Abby,” Juliet commented as she walked over to the disc player underneath the TV. She saw a stack of DVDs:  _ When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle,  _ and on top,  _ You’ve Got Mail  _ \-- the current movie being played. 

“This is exactly what I should be doing,” Abby quipped, pulling the blanket further up around her. 

“Someone’s on a Meg Ryan binge,” Juliet sighed, then climbed into bed with Abby. 

Without any more words, she pulls Abby into her side, and tugs the blankets around them, as Abby wraps her arms around Juliet’s waist, resting her cheek on the inside of her friends shoulder. Juliet’s hands hold Abby against her tight, as the movie reaches the point where Joe finds out Kathleen is ‘Shopgirl’.

“At least you’re not watching  _ Hope Floats _ ,” Juliet whispers. 

“Couldn’t find it,” Abby mumbles, her head bouncing lightly in reward of Juliet’s laugh. 

“I can re-enact it for you if you want,” Juliet offers, a hint of mockery in her voice. 

“Please don’t,” Abby comments, meaning the opposite.

“Back home we had a pet skunk,” Juliet starts, “mom called it Justin Matisse. Do you think that’s a coincidence? All day long mom would scream  _ you stink Justin Matisse _ !” Juliet’s voice rises, and Abby can’t help as giggles fall from her lips. “Finally, she just picked up a club and killed it.”

Juliet feels satisfied for making Abby laugh, if only for a moment. And it was just for a moment, because then everything fell silent once more. Juliet doesn’t remember when Abby fell asleep, and unfortunately, she couldn’t stay well into the afternoon, the hospital needed her. So she tries her best not to wake Abby as she slips from their embrace. 

However, Abby stirs and works up enough to say, “Thank you.”

Juliet smiles down at one of her closest friends, lost, unable to get out of bed for more than a few minutes, and most obviously -- sad. She’d never seen Abby react to life-changing situations in this way. After Jake’s death, she worked herself to the point of exhaustion. She studied all there was about his unfortunate event, remembering statistics for the sake of not blaming herself for never seeing signs. 

But this woman, sleeping fifty percent of her day, and not getting up for seventy. She was unrecognizable, and Juliet knew all she needed to do was  _ be there _ with her. Because at the end of the day, she was still Abby. You can’t erase that. You can lose it for a while, but strength and hope, they come back. 

Abby needed time. Except, no one knew how much. 

“Always. I’ll lock the door on my way out,” Juliet turns off the television, “don’t forget to eat something.”

With that, Juliet makes her way quietly down the steps of the house. And before Abby knows it, sleep consumes her again. 

But when her eyes shut, she’s not thrown into an unknown dream sequence. Instead, it feels like deja vu mixed with a memory. Her crisp white sheets are replaced by warm water. Her shoulders are cold as droplets hit her back as they fall from the messy bun she pulled up only before getting into the pool. His hands skim up her nude thighs, playing with the strings of her bathing suit bottoms. She can’t see past the glow of the pool in this midnight, as they’re consumed by darkness. 

“So aside from me,” she hears herself ask as her fingers linger over his bottom lip, “what’s one of your greatest desires?”

Marcus’s head bows, and the lip she was just brushing has been pulled between his teeth.

“Don’t think too hard,” she teases, “the first thing that came to mind.”

Abby stares at his pursed lips, running a gentle hand through his hair, wondering why this question was so hard for him to answer. 

“To be remembered, to go skydiving, to own a farm, c’mon Marcus it’s just a question,” Abby leans in to kiss the tip of his nose. 

Then as if neurons in her brain have charged fully, suddenly she can remember it all. The way his bare chest moved up and down, with slow leisure breaths, as the water moved back and forth between them. The sight of a dark sky with shining stars above, and twinkling city lights down the hill. Their empty wine glasses only a foot away on the edge of the pool. 

“You’ve probably done this so it seems silly to say out loud,” he murmurs, his hands finding a spot above her hips, “I also don’t want to upset you.”

“Spit it out,” she grabs his face playfully in between the fingers of her left hand. Her shiny engagement ring bringing a sharp pain to the lucid dreaming Abby, watching Marcus in front of her, but not completely feeling like she housed the body he was holding so delicately between his arms.

“Okay, okay!” he gives up, turning his face quickly to kiss the inside of her left wrist. Her hand falls as he continues in a hushed voice, “I’ve never seen so much joy come from a child’s face than when they’re holding their parents hands on each side. And it always happens in like a parking lot on the way to a store. The parents countdown to one from three, and together they swing the kid forward, and the kids face is always smiling …”

Marcus closes his eyes, “I didn’t get to do that with Octavia, and I always wanted to. I just want that stupid silly moment.”

When he opens his eyes, Abby’s have fallen between them, and before she can look at him Marcus apologizes, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Abby shakes her head, “No, it’s sweet, you have every right to desire that. It’s a moment you take for granted for sure … I can tell you that.”

Her voice is soft and quiet, but the knot in between her eyebrows gives her away. A silent, _ I told you that you would want this _ , and a tenser,  _ but I can’t give it to you _ . Marcus struggles to find footing on what to say next, because she’s wrong, he has enough and undoubtedly knows it. But then, practically saving him Abby suddenly speaks. 

“She’d be cute,” her chin lifts with a gentle smile, “but God, my stubbornness and your nerve in one tiny human?”

Marcus’s eyes widen, unbelieving of her statement. He didn’t want to  _ go there _ , it was the opposite of where he wanted this conversation to lead. But for a moment they allow themselves to imagine the greatest  _ if only _ . 

“Plus we’re both very opinionated,” Abby smirks, leaning further into his body. 

“We wouldn’t stand a chance,” Marcus chuckles.

“Not one,” Abby murmurs, her forehead falling to his shoulder as he pulls her closer. 

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees, “but she’d have your heart.”

Then as if a curtain dropped, the scenery dissolved before her. His touch now only that of a ghost, and Abby opened her eyes to a silent room. Her heart ached, and her body cried to leave the confines of her room if only to feel the sun again, to feel the fresh air in her lungs. 

_ Enough _ , Abby sighed internally,  _ we’re going to get up, everyday. Everyday, we’re just going to get up, get dressed, and try. Everyday.  _

* * *

 

Marcus doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that he never sees his daughter, or the fact that when he does she pays him no notice. It never gets easier. Every shut of her bedroom door and blank stare to his side when he asks her something as simple as:  _ How was your day? _ He wants to take the car keys she keeps in her room, if only for her to need him again.

He thought allowing her to meet Vera would change her animosity towards him. Or at least help lessen it. But she doesn’t talk to him about his mother. She comes back from the Saturday visits, and locks herself up in her room. 

But today is  _ their _ day. 

It’s been their day for almost twelve years. Surely she wouldn’t leave him to dry. 

He waits patiently on a stool by their kitchen island late that morning, knowing his daughter was stubborn but eventually would give into her rumbling stomach. At a quarter to ten, he hears her bedroom door open and her footsteps approach the kitchen through the living room.

Octavia is met with her fathers poorly hidden eager expression, and she ignores it as she makes her way to the pantry. 

“I thought we could go have lunch, whatever you want?” he tells her closing the laptop in front of him, saving him from sending Abby an embarrassing amount of roses and chocolates. 

It had been six and a half weeks since he’d last seen her. And he knew,  _ he knew _ , a hundred bouquets of flowers would never make her call. And why should they? He hadn’t called her either. But their situation wasn’t like a college affair or late-twenties fall out. He refused to bombard her phone with countless voicemails and text messages. 

What was he to even say? A “sorry” said a thousand times would not make up for his wrongdoing. A constant stream of his love and miss for her would only bring them both pain. He  _ knew this _ . No this wasn’t some problem that would fix itself within days at a time. But it didn’t stop him from hoping. 

Maybe one day his phone would ring, and he’d see her on the screen; the glow of a fire lighting their faces as she sat in between his legs, a relaxed smile on her lips, with his arms wrapped over her shoulders. But Abby had not called him. There was no response from his good luck gift, and surely there’d be no response for anything after that. 

A dull pain that spread through him was overhearing Octavia talk to  _ her _ late at night. Like a madman he’d tiptoe his way to Octavia’s door, leaning against the wall, his head falling back, his eyes closing at the sound of his daughter laughing or explaining all the stories she would no longer tell him. 

It hurt to love a woman so extraordinary that she would never cut communication with his children. It hurt to love a woman who was broken, by him, but didn’t let that stop her from being what Octavia needed.  _ If only Octavia needed me _ , he selfishly thought. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Octavia states from inside the small space, “Lincoln’s picking me up at noon to spend the day with him.”

She emerges with a cereal bar, meeting his stare without a touch of fear. Almost taunting him to challenge her. Marcus’s gaze falls down to the sleek metal of his laptop, tracing the logo lightly with his fingers. His lips pursed in thought. 

“No,” he finally decides looking back up at Octavia.

“What do you mean no?” she scoffs. 

“I mean no,” Marcus repeats, “as in you can’t go out with Lincoln today.”

Octavia tosses her bar on the marble of the kitchen, “You’re fucking serious?”

“Watch your language,” Marcus scolds her. 

“You cuss all the time!” she argues with him, her hand flailing up in disbelief. 

“You do not cuss at  _ me _ !” he shouts, “What has gotten into you? I know you’re angry, but you never talk like this.”

“Whatever,” Octavia rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe you’re the one getting mad at  _ me _ right now, it’s so stupid.” She turns to walk out of the room, but then Marcus berates loudly, “ _ Stop walking _ .”

She doesn’t have to turn to know her father is clutching at the edge of the marble with tight fists; anger fuming from him. 

“Do you think I want to fight with you?” Marcus asks through his teeth, “Do you think any parent wants to argue with their kid? You’re upset with me, I understand that. But that does not give you the right to speak to me like this.”

Octavia stares at him, “Okay, are we done here?” her tone mocking.

“ _ Talk to me _ ,” he pleads. 

“I don’t want to talk to you!” she shouts, her hands rising to hold her face in frustration, “All you ever do is ask me about my day, when nothing happens! I go to school, I go to practice, and I come home! I hardly ever see Lincoln, and on the one weekend he doesn’t have a track meet  _ you won’t let me go! _ ”

“You didn’t ask for permission. You didn’t tell me where you were going. You didn’t even let me know what? Two hours before he was going to pick you up? You know how this works Octavia. The rules for going out with a friend haven’t changed.”

“Fine, can I go with Lincoln for the day?” she persists.

“I already said no,” Marcus replies. 

“I seriously hate you,” Octavia growls turning on her foot once more to leave the room.

“You can hate me all you want, I’m still your dad,” he tells her in a hard tone.

“Well I wish you weren’t!” Octavia’s harsh voice rips through the tense room so violently, her back twisting painfully from her sharp spin to look at her father. 

The moment her eyes fall on his face, she wishes she could put the words that flew so valiantly from her mouth back inside. This time Octavia can’t hold his stare, not because she wants to annoy him, but because she can’t look at his sullen face. Marcus doesn’t say anything more as he walks soundlessly out of the room. 

Octavia hears him gather his car keys from the table near the garage door, and her throat tightens when he says, “If you want to see Lincoln, go ahead.”

The sound of the door opening and shutting, while the garage rails up, leaves her feeling devastated.  _ He didn’t tell me not to be out too late _ , she thinks.  _ He didn’t even ask me what time I would get home _ .

* * *

Marcus’s feet dig deeper holes into the dirt beneath him. The sweater he kept in his car does nothing to help the cold bite in the air. A gray filter covering every inch of the park, as no sun rays are able to penetrate the stratus clouds. He can hear the rumble of a train approaching, and remembers how excited Octavia would get seeing it pass by.

The chains between his fingers sting, but he clutches them tightly as he swings forward and back. He can see a mother and daughter playfully chasing a puppy, and a small girl with her father throwing a football back and forth. This is where Octavia scraped her knee learning how to ride a bike without training wheels. This is where he would swing her higher and higher, until she told him she was flying.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he whispers to a silent God, “I fucked up, okay? With my mom, with Octavia … with Abby. And I get it,” his voice cracks, “I get that you are showing me that I have to walk through my truth, but  _ fuck _ .” The word comes out in a broken whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that. You have too much faith in me.”

Marcus clenches his eyes shut, “All I have ever tried to do is love her. That’s all I wanted for her, to be loved. And she  _ hates  _ me.”

“I don’t hate you,” a voice says from beside him. His eyes open at the sound, and he turns to find Octavia taking a seat on the swing next to his. 

They sit with the roll of the train on the tracks, and the distant laughter of children. Marcus wonders how much his daughter heard, but doesn’t let it eat him up.  _ She should know how you’re feeling _ , he thinks. 

Octavia turns her head to face him, “I didn’t mean any of what I said at the house. I’m sorry.”

Marcus nods gently, “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Are we?” she comments looking out to the large field in front of them. None of what was happening was ‘okay’. Their relationship was holding on by the thinnest of strings. Bellamy hadn’t communicated much to either of them since he returned to school. Clarke was partially  M.I.A., and Abby … no one  _ truly _ knew how Abby was. 

“Me and you?” he asks, his eyes finding her deep green irises. 

“Yeah, me and you,” she affirms. 

Octavia observes as her father lifts up his right arm and stretches it out to her. He holds it in the air for five long seconds, before Octavia finds his hand with her own. 

“I can’t expect you to forgive me so soon. As much as I want that to be the case, I hurt you. I know I did. But you’re stuck with me, because I will always love you more than anyone in this whole world. And  _ I’m sorry _ . I am so sorry. If I could take all this pain away, this uncertainty, I would. If I could reverse time, and make sure you met Vera minutes after I met you, I would. But I don’t have that kind of power. So you take your time at forgiveness. I know it’s hard. Every emotion is magnetized. We feel anger as hate, and sadness like it’s life draining. But, I will be here, because I am your father, and I love you.”

Octavia doesn’t bother to wipe the tears that roll down her face. 

“What I have put you through,” Marcus struggles to continue, “is beyond anything I can ever repent. But I’ll try. Everyday,” he squeezes her hand, “I’ll try.”

“I know you will,” Octavia states, her shoulders shaking, “and I love you too.” Marcus stands to pull her up, and she clutches him the moment his arms wrap around her. He holds her until he can feel her breath calm, but she doesn’t let him go.

“How did you know where I would be?” Marcus asks.

“You’re more predictable than you think,” Octavia mumbles into his chest. She then lifts her head, “I scraped my knee over there,” she points at a trail along the edge of the field, “and we timed trains over there,” she points at a small bench near the tracks, “and I jumped off this swing, here. This is where it all happened. This is where I grew up.”


	19. The Time In Between - Part II

Abby walked into the familiar spin studio late in the evening, the upbeat music waking her up far more than the silent trip she took into the city. She didn’t know why she bothered with the commute, she had no reason to drive into Polis anymore. But Ton DCs gym was sad. 

She didn’t even attempt running on the same trail that she had walked with Octavia, Marcus, and Wilson. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how much she had given up to not be reminded of him. She wanted to start taking back parts of herself. Whether or not the answer to that was a forty-five-minute high-intensity workout class was a whole other story. 

Abby relished it because for those forty-five minutes she could let the loud music drown out all her thoughts. And quite frankly for those forty-five minutes, if she wanted, she could think  _ fuck you,  _ over and over and over again, and not feel bad for every bit of anger she felt at Marcus. 

As she adjusted the bike to her liking with the other twenty some people in the class, a lean tall figure approached her. “You were just here Abby,” the young girl said, as she tied her hair back in a ponytail, her dark brown ringlets bouncing into place, “like yesterday afternoon,” she tightens the elastic band to hold her hair firmly in place, “and the morning before that, and the night before that …”

“You should be flattered,” Abby quipped.

“You need to take a break,” she rolls her eyes.

Abby looks up at her after spreading the towel they provide over the handlebars, “No, I don’t.” A smile barely crosses her face, but it’s not a playful challenge, it’s an end of conversation cue. 

Joy, the instructor with a fitting name, walks back to the center front of the room with her hands up in surrender shaking her head side to side with a grin. She clips on her mic, saddles the stationary bike, and begins the class. 

It naturally hits that point when the room is practically steaming with body heat. A calm upbeat begins, and they’re told to lower the resistance, and focus on themselves. 

_ A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes _

_ I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind _

“If you’re like me,” Joy says leading them into the last song, “you’re going to have days you’re sad, maybe for no reason, and then you get mad at yourself for feeling that way,” the beat of the song picks up more, “don’t torture yourself for your emotions.”

_ No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight _

_ In the shadow of your heart _

“If today is one of those days,” Joy breathes, “give yourself credit for showing up. Sometimes it’s hard to just show up and choose happiness.”

_ And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat _

_ I tried to find the sound _

“And if you’re not there yet, give yourself credit for trying,” Joy reaches behind her to turn down the lights, leaving them in the glow of a few candles at the front of the room. 

_ But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness, _

_ So darkness I became _

“I want you to just let it all go. Your fears, your faults, your troubles … just for a moment and focus on the music, on the beat, and let your mind and body follow.”

_ The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out _

_ You left me in the dark _

_ No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight _

_ In the shadow of your heart _

Abby doesn’t know if it’s her shortness of breath, the sound of the woman’s melodic voice, or the series of beautifully produced instruments playing loudly through the speakers -- but it summons his face and he breaks through all the walls she’d built to keep him out for the past month.

_ I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map _

_ And knew that somehow I could find my way back _

_ Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too _

_ So I stayed in the darkness with you _

She goes against everything Joy has just said, and thinks about him in full for those last minutes. The music blares around her like a cloak, and she squeezes her eyes shut, while her legs never seize movement. 

_ The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out _

_ You left me in the dark _

_ No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight _

_ In the shadow of your heart _

Abby sees him in the first light of morning, wrapped in her white comforter, sleepily smiling at her. She sees him holding her hand as they walk through the downtown streets midday. She sees him in a clean suit approaching her bashfully with a single flower, an apology ready on his lips for being late. She sees him atop her, below her, behind her. She sees the anger in his eyes from their first fight. She sees the shame in his face from when he raised his voice. She feels the fear in his fingers from the withdrawal of her own. She sees the complete and utter devastation in all of him when she told him they couldn’t go on. 

_ The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out _

_ You left me in the dark _

_ No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight _

_ In the shadow of your heart _

The song ends. The room erupts with supportive yells and claps, as everyone congratulates each other for finishing. Abby has never been more grateful for her hot tears to blend with the sweat dripping down her face. 

* * *

Abby enters her car, still damp from the cold shower she’d taken after her class, and makes her way back home. It had felt good to let out everything she had tried so desperately to subdue. Her chest felt lighter, and her mind less out of control. She stopped at her favorite cafe on the city limits of Ton DC, treating herself to a hot tea. Suddenly all the weight of heartbreak, lifted from her shoulders, if only a few centimeters.

Just as she reached to turn on her radio, an incoming call took over the screen. The phone number appeared in a thick white font, and she didn’t have to think twice about who it was. Abby came to a stop light, and watched as the phone call ended. Then as the light turned green, the number popped up again. 

This time she reached over and smashed the end button. “No,” she said out loud, “you don’t get to do this. Not when I just started feeling better.” She punched the end call again, as he dialed her number once more, “No, no, no!”

Finally, Abby was met with the silence of her car. She clutched the steering wheel between her hands, thinking about  _ why _ he would be calling so insistently now. It’d been about seven weeks since their break up, and after his flowers she hadn’t heard a peep. 

A message appeared on the car screen:  _ New Voicemail _

It almost makes Abby miss the turn onto the street where she lived. Her mind fights with her gut to press the button. But she doesn’t. If she heard his voice … she didn’t know how it would end for her. The thought of it vibrating through her car, made her stomach uneasy. She wasn’t ready to hear it, not yet.

Her house came into view, and she wasn’t prepared for what she saw next. For the sight of a parked grey Honda, on the curb in front of her mailbox, might be the reason why he was calling. Abby’s chest tightened when she saw who was waiting on the steps of her porch. 

Octavia’s chin lifted at the sound of Abby’s car pulling into the driveway. She wore her knee pads around her ankles, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a heather grey pullover a size too big. Abby could see the red-rimmed eyes of the girl and knew she’d been crying.

Octavia stood as Abby approached her, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Abby looked down to see all she was clutching was her car keys and phone, “How long have you been waiting here? Why didn’t you call me first?”

“Not long,” Octavia looks down, “I’m sorry I didn’t know I was going to come here. But after practice,” she pauses, “I just couldn’t go home. If I would’ve called you, I knew you’d tell me I shouldn’t be traveling this far alone at night.”

Abby reaches out to tuck a fallen piece of hair behind Octavia’s ear, “Your father doesn’t know where you are does he?”

“No,” she answers softly, “I turned off my phone the minute I passed Polis.” 

“Octavia that’s irresponsible, he’s probably worried sick.”

“I know,” Octavia replies. 

“Okay,” Abby sighs, “c’mon you can take a shower, and I’ll lend you some of my clothes to sleep in. But you need to call your father and tell him that you’re alright. Then you can tell me what happened, okay?”

“Thank you Abby,” Octavia smiles, as Abby wraps her arm around the girls' shoulders and leads her inside. 

Minutes later, Abby leans against the wall of the hallway, listening to Octavia tell her father she is safe. The long silence leads her to think maybe the phone call had ended, but Octavia turns the corner startling Abby. She didn’t want to be caught overhearing their conversation, but Octavia doesn’t mind. Instead, she extends her phone towards Abby. 

“I can’t,” Abby whispers, her mouth barely moving, her head shaking side to side sharply. Octavia’s eyes bore into Abby’s, almost pleading with her to just pick up the phone. 

“He just wants to thank you,” Octavia murmurs.

“Octavia,” Abby breathes, but the phone has already been placed in Abby’s lowered palm.

“If you don’t want to talk to him, then just hang up,” Octavia tells her lowly, “I’m going to go take that shower.”

With that Octavia makes her way upstairs, leaving Abby in the dimly lit hallway alone. She holds the phone screen up, looking at the duration of the call add more and more time. The bright red button taunting her to just cut the weed at the root. However, she glacially lifts Octavia’s cell phone until the glass chills her ear. 

Abby doesn’t speak, and hears nothing on the other end. She imagines that maybe he already hung up, or maybe she can’t even hear him with the loud beating of her heart in her ears. 

Then his voice rasps through the speaker, “Hello?”

Abby’s eyes shut instantly, her voice freezes, and her arm wraps around her abdomen. But she doesn’t answer him. She can’t. 

“Hello, Abby?” her name drips from his lips, and it’s been  _ so long _ since she’d last heard him call out to her. 

“Abby,” his breath comes out husky, it’s hard for him to be on the other end of this line too, “are you there?”

Abby swallows the lump in her throat, “I’m here,” she finally answers him. 

It feels like a thin blade shoots through his chest. His left palm grips the railing of his bedroom balcony. God, he missed her voice.

“I’m here,” she repeats a little more sturdy this time. 

Marcus leans forward, bringing his forehead to lay against his forearm, his eyes drifting closed. There are a million things he wants to say. But he knows if he says any of those things not relating to Octavia, she’ll hang up. This is not the time for him to beg for forgiveness. 

“I don’t know,” his voice shakes, “I don’t know why she ran away.”

“Me either,” Abby murmurs, “not yet at least. But she’s okay, and I’ll make sure she gets some rest.”

She can hear him take a deep breath before answering, “Thank you, Abby.”

“Yeah,” Abby replies in a somber tone, “no problem.” 

She bites down roughly on her trembling bottom lip. His voice makes her want to curl up with him, wrap her legs around his waist, and inhale his cologne. It makes her want to feel the weight of his hand at the small of her back, and run her fingers down his spine. His voice tore through her like a tornado. Opening all the wounds, not yet properly healed, once more. 

“I-” Marcus begins, struggling to find how to close their conversation. But he really doesn’t want to, even if they aren’t saying much. “I should get going,” he clears his throat, straightening his posture, “there’s some work stuff I have to finish before midnight,” he lies.

Abby knows he’s lying, but small talk with someone you used to love was one of the cruelest forms of torture. 

“Right of course,” Abby whispers.

Marcus fights the urge to scream, practically crushing his phone within his hand. In a perverse way, he wanted her to scream, to yell, to curse at him. He wanted that so much more than this civil back and forth, that made it seem like they hardly knew each other at all. That made it seem like they hadn’t been completely in love almost two months ago.

“Night Marcus,” Abby says finally. The last bullet of the phone call. 

Before she can hang up he repeats, “Night Abby.”

In a kismet fashion, they both click end at the same time. Saving themselves from staying on an empty line. Abby feels her knees give out beneath her, as she slides down the wall until she crashes onto the floor. She can’t recognize herself as sobs erupt from her chest, and wheezing noises bruise her throat. Abby tries in vain to calm her double breathing, as it violently rips her through her lungs.

Octavia stumbles upon a distraught Abby, her head between her knees, trembling. Octavia races to her side, pulling Abby into her arms. Abby’s body slides down until her head falls onto Octavia’s lap. 

“Abby I’m sorry,” Octavia says, running her hands up and down Abby’s arms, “I shouldn't have given you the phone, I’m so sorry.”

Abby shakes her head, “It’s not your fault,” she’s able to say between her breaths still coming in two’s, “not your fault.” The next words that fall from Abby’s lips, are some she tried so diligently to keep from Octavia, but she can’t help as she admits out loud, “I miss him.”

Octavia’s fingers still for half a second, before they move to brush Abby’s loose waves away from her face. She has no words, as she continues to comfort Abby, until her breaths level and her eyes close from tiredness.  

When Abby wakes up, her back aches from her curled position on the cold floor. Arms are heavily draped over her body, and she twists her neck as far as possible to see Octavia asleep. The young girls head is lulled back against the wall, breathing in and out calmly. 

“Pizza sounds really good right about now,” Octavia mutters, her lips pulling up into a small smirk, but her eyes still closed. 

Abby can’t help but smile as she pushes off of Octavia’s lap, sitting side by side with her now. Octavia’s head falls on the top of Abby’s shoulder, and Abby mimics the gesture. 

“I’ll see where I can order one this late,” Abby tells her, with one last kiss to the top of the girls forehead she stands up, and makes her way to the kitchen. Octavia takes a few minutes to truly rise, and eventually wanders over to the bright room. Abby had just finished hanging up the phone, placing the order. 

“Should be here in thirty minutes,” Abby affirms leaning back against one of the counters. 

“Cool, thank you,” Octavia nods. 

“So,” Abby elongates the word, “want to tell me what happened today?”

Octavia doesn’t take long to answer, “Not really.”

“Well, it was something that made you drive almost two hours away from it,” Abby comments cooly. 

“It was stupid,” Octavia sighs, her forehead falling into her hands. 

Abby patiently waits before asking, “Was it Lincoln?”

“Ew, no,” Octavia grumbles.

“Okay,” Abby can’t help but chuckle, before trying another guess, “Was it your father?”

“Contrary to popular opinion, no, not him either.”

“Alright babe, give me something,” Abby finally gives up. 

Octavia lifts her head, and then crosses her arms in front of her chest, “I made the seventeens national team, so I’m not playing with Luna or Gaia anymore.”

Abby nods her head slowly, trying to understand, “I know they're your friends, but you should be proud of yourself? Being a whole other level above your age-”

“I am proud,” Octavia cuts her off, “but I have no one on the new team and the girls … I don’t think they like me. I don’t know, it makes me want to ask if they can move me back down.”

“Do you think you’re being challenged more on the seventeens team?”

“Abby, you know the answer to that,” Octavia rolls her eyes. 

“Then keep working hard, and let your talent do the talking. Don’t give in to the drama,” Abby comforts her.

“I’ve tried,” Octavia growls, “but it’s been four weeks.”

Abby purses her lip, this had been a problem Octavia had been dealing with for a while, “Have you told your father?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “he was so happy that I made the higher team. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“Octavia if it’s affecting you this poorly,” Abby runs a hand through her hair, “it’s not worth it.”

“But I can do it,” Octavia fights, “it just sucks.”

Abby looks at the teenage girl, with much more strength than she could ever imagine, “Don’t let them see you cry, they don’t deserve it.”

“Oh not in a million years,” Octavia affirms.

* * *

Here’s the thing with empty offices at night, the minute the lights turn off they lose the very reason they were built. You can sleep on the vacant couches, usually occupied by clients. You can watch movies on the screen typically used for important presentations. You can use desks, like they were in your bedroom rather than a place you negotiated thousand dollar deals.

Honestly, empty offices at night become anything you want them to be. Marcus was acutely aware of this. It almost became desirable to work into the late hours of the night, just so Abby would drive over and meet him in the dim confines of his corner office space. 

She’d type in the pin to the office door, slide her fingers along the smooth metal of the panel, occasionally stop and grab something to drink from the kitchen. She’d walk in quietly while he took a call on the phone, slipping off her coat and making her way to him. 

There was a game she liked to play, as he sat back in the leather seat of his desk, making room for her to sit on the edge of it in front of him. It began with Abby unbuttoning her silk blouse torturously slow. The longer he took on the call, the longer he couldn’t reach out and touch her, or her him. Until he finally finished the call and launched forward, practically pushing all the belongings on top of his desk off of it. 

Tonight, however, it was just him. No one to meet him at midnight, no one to pressure him into making decisions diligently, no one but him alone in that corner space. 

“Alright, it was good talking to you Felix,” Marcus said to one of his colleagues on the other line. 

“You too, and tell Abby I said hello,” Felix replied, a surprise dagger penetrating Marcus’s lungs. 

He hadn’t yet told his colleague he was no longer seeing Abby. And the last time all three of them, plus Felix’s partner, had dinner together in the Blue Mountains. Marcus had convinced Abby to join him on this client-centric trip, and she had charmed them more than Marcus ever could. However, the minute they left the restaurant, which was at two in the morning, she threatened that if all his clients liked to talk  _ that _ much he was on his own next time. 

“Right,” Marcus was able to get out, “I will. Thanks, Felix.” Then he hung up without a second to spare.

Marcus looked down at the phone in his hands, staring at the red alert of a voicemail he hadn’t listened to yet. It was from Octavia, and moments later he learned it was just her informing him she made it to Gaia’s safely. He scrolled past the voicemails he had yet to delete. Most, if not all from  _ her _ . 

His thumb hovered over her name, recalling a voicemail from December. With one hesitant brush against the glass screen, Marcus gave in to her memory. 

“I know you’re in a meeting,” he heard her giggly voice through the small speaker, flowing smoothly through his ears, “but you  _ really _ need to stop sending me flowers for no reason. I think the nurses are getting annoyed with me.” Marcus can’t help but smile at the sound of her hushed laugh, “Oh, I really don’t care. Keep sending them. I love you, and I’ll see you later tonight, bye.”

Then just as quickly as it started, the vision of her was gone. So Marcus did the only thing he could think of to fill the emptiness he carried in him where she belonged. 

“Hey,” she sounded like she wanted to make it fast, “Octavia sprained her ankle at the game. The coach gave me a hard time signing that stupid pick up form so she wouldn’t have to ride the bus all the way back to Arkadia.” He heard Octavia mutter something incomprehensible in the background, then Abby continued in an annoyed voice, “She wanted to keep playing when her ankle was beginning to swell!”

“Abby told off the ref and the other teams' coach!” Octavia blurted, this time loud enough he could hear. 

“I did not,” Abby lied, but then after a silent pause, she sighed, “okay I did. But the girl blocking on the other side of the net kicked Octavia while she was swinging at the ball, that’s why she landed improperly.”

“She got escorted out,” Octavia chimed proudly. 

“Anyways,” Abby squealed embarrassingly, “we’re on our way back to my house, so come this way when you get out of work. Love you, bye!”

“Love you!” Octavia’s voice echoed, and then the message ended. 

The moment he walked through Abby’s front door, he remembers being moderately concerned at Octavia’s ankle, and more interested in the fact that Abby got tossed out of the game. He couldn’t stop laughing the entire time Octavia told the story with lively emotions, her ankle wrapped in ice, and Abby tried to argue that her outburst wasn’t _that_ _bad_. 

At the next game, more than one parent approached Marcus saying Abby had been totally in the right. However, Abby was exceptionally more reserved that night. Until she saw the exact same up ref, who failed to penalize the team that injured Octavia, walk through the gym doors. Marcus could hardly hide his amusement, as the color drained from the refs face once his eyes fell on the petite woman daring him to approach her.

He missed sitting next to her in the uncomfortable stadium seating. He missed driving together to the far away games. He missed her in that size too big fan shirt. The small grin on his face proved that. 

But it subsided quickly when he clicked the next message.

“This is the second call I make that goes to voicemail Marcus,” her voice is angry on the other end, he can hear a rush of city background noise, “I’m walking to my car because it’s been thirty minutes since we were supposed to meet,” Marcus’s stomach churns in nervousness, “don’t make plans if you can’t keep them.”

The voicemail ends abruptly, and he’s left to recall the events of that night. They were supposed to meet for dinner after his last conference call. Except, the whole meeting had burst into flames and he was left to figure out how to salvage the image of a company who had guaranteed an open date that was now five months off. Abby was always understanding of his crisis control situations. But he had forgotten to call, leaving her waiting alone for nearly an hour in a crowded restaurant without a clue of where he was.

Marcus let the memories of that small fight fade, and pressed a voicemail further down. 

“Hi,” she whispers into the phone, her voice broken, “I just got out of an emergency surgery.” He hears a constant strum in the background, her keys are in the ignition but she hasn’t started her car. “He was five,” Abby croaked, “and in terrible condition from an accident when the EMT brought him in,” her voice begins to shake. He hears her take a deep breath, a sniffle joining, “and  _ I know _ ,” she tells him sternly, “ _ I know _ I can’t save them all.” 

Marcus breathes with her as they inhale together filling their lungs, but her exhale comes out as a small sob, “We had to cut him out of his pajamas Marcus,” Abby’s words come through between each hiccup, “they had rockets, and stars, and the moon.” 

Marcus falls forward his head finding the edge of his desk, his arm making a small pillow, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-” her double breaths consume her again, “I’m fine. I’ll be okay. I just needed to call you.” 

But she’s not okay. He remembers this night clearly. The way he stepped out of the shower to three missed calls, and this voicemail. He called her back immediately, to find she hadn’t had the strength to leave the parking lot of the hospital. He had sped at a dangerous pace to pick her up and take her home. Spending the night soothing her in his arms. 

“I love you,” Abby tells him, before hanging up the phone.

He needs to put the phone down. But the date that his eyes fall on tell him,  _ just one more _ . 

“Hey, we tried texting and calling you. I don’t know if it’s the service here, but we’re going to sit in the Starbucks next to the Apple store. We’re hungry, so hurry up. Okay love you, bye!”

This was the weekend she went with them to Octavia’s tournament. He was passing by Tiffany & Co., to find the girls who left him at the Tesla showroom, and entertained himself about the idea of buying Abby a necklace. Marcus didn’t know he’d walk out with a ring he’d eventually use to propose.  

He remembers getting nervous at his daughter and Abby’s impatient calls, while he stared down at the same ring for over twenty minutes. Finally telling the saleswoman he’d take it, purely going by eye on Abby’s ring size. 

She had brought out the classic blue box, to which he gently requested, “If there’s any way you can wrap it in a black box that’d be great.”

The saleswoman had looked at him with shock that bordered terror, “But sir … it’s our brand?”

Marcus had sighed, “Yeah I know, but she’d kill me if she found the blue box. Why don’t I just take the velvet black box without the blue outer one?”

“I-” the saleswoman stuttered, “Are you sure sir?”

At this point, Marcus was becoming impatient himself, “Hey she’s my future wife, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. Now, are you going to sell me the ring or not?”

He’d walked around that outdoor shopping center, after he met them at the Starbucks, for  _ hours _ with the box burning a hole in his jean pocket. It hid in his home office drawer for months. In the wee hours of the morning, he’d pull it out and just talk himself in and out of proposing. Until finally he used it that cold January night. 

Marcus doesn’t want to remember that ring right now. He didn’t want to think of the future that slipped through his fingers. But, he needed to see her. There was no way, that he could sit through listening to her voice in its entirety and not want to see her in front of him. 

He hadn’t given himself the chance to open the photo app on his phone, knowing very well that it would simply cause him pain. He could never delete the photos of her either. So they stayed in their limbo for the past several weeks, until he leaned back in his office chair, propped his legs up on the desk, and began swiping through his album.

The clock ticked on, one photo at a time. Until it was well past midnight and he was somewhere in November. He’d re-lived dates, weekend trips, a college visit to Bellamy, and so many more miscellaneous moments you just forget. Then the next photo he swiped, wasn’t a photo at all, but a video. It was dim and blurred, and suddenly Marcus felt himself get warm as he gave no chance at skipping the memory, before he tapped play. 

“You’re seriously answering work emails right now?” her throaty voice echoes on the screen. 

Marcus watches as she climbs onto the bed in a black satin chemise that teased her mid-thigh. She walked on her knees towards him, her golden locks draped over her shoulder, and she gracefully flicked the mane to fall down her back. 

“No,” he hears his voice, half afraid, half aroused.

“Then what are you doing?” she asked reaching for the phone. She’s so close that all he can see is the upper half of her body, up to the shape of her mouth. 

Marcus grips the phone in his hand harder, as the video shakes, trying to get out of her reach, “I’m just …” 

Then her hand covers the camera, “Are you recording me? Marcus!” Although she’s basically scolding him, the high pitch of his name makes him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The screen is still black when she says, “Delete it, I don’t need that in the cloud or whatever.”

“My phone’s not connected to the cloud,” he tried to barter with her. 

“It’s not?” she sounded surprised. A hint of curiosity dripping from her words. 

“No,” he hears himself say, and it’s clearer. He remembers how he nuzzled her neck, and pulled her onto his lap, as they both held the phone in between them. “I’ll miss you across the ocean,” the phone shuffles in their hands, each fighting for dominance over it, “and you looked so good. I just wanted something … for me … while I was away.”

“Mmm,” Abby contemplates, and a few long seconds pass, “fine … just for you. But I swear to God, if this thing ever sees the light of day outside your phone, I will murder you and no one will be able to tie it back to me.”

She’s half-teasing. But he doesn’t get time to linger on the smirk he can hear in her voice because light has returned to the video before him. 

The Marcus sitting down on his office chair feels the blood rush from his head to his groin, as he watches her fingers lift slowly, gracing her arm with a light touch, until she tentatively slips one strap of her nightgown to fall down her shoulder. He watches as she picks up his hand, and places it on her bare clavicle. It looks large on top of her skin, as he slides his thumb onto the top of her shoulder, making her head fall back with a small moan. He sees his fingers pluck the other strap, letting it also fall loose. He almost shuts the phone off when his hand begins to caress her breast through the thin soft fabric, but his past self abruptly stops the video. He remembers his fingers furiously threading into her hair, pulling her to him until she crashed down on his lips, no longer being able to wait. 

The room is filled with a tense silence, as he unclenches the jaw he had set so tightly upon watching her. His eyes close, imaging himself in that moment -- the warm silky skin of her thighs against his, the smell of his body wash mixed with her natural scent, the way they fit together when he lifted them to their knees, turning her and holding her body up against his chest as they found a steady rhythm. Her arm lifting to grasp the back of his head in her palm, while his own covered a soft cry that flew through her lips, because they weren’t alone in his house.

_ Fuck _ , he thought, his eyes popping open. But the image doesn’t leave him. He sees his other hand roughly pulling at her hip as the expensive fabric wrinkles in between his fingers. He sees her get frustrated at the delicate layer separating them, until she clumsily tugs it off her body. 

Marcus hastily pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk housing two different bottles of whiskey. He looks down at one half empty, half full. He knows he shouldn’t drink and think about her. He had kept himself far away from trying to find the answers to his problems at the bottom of a bottle. And he knew once he started it would be hard for him to not give in to this form of numbness everytime she crossed his mind. 

But his hand had already twisted the cap off, and his lips had found the rim of the bottle, and the rush of strong smooth whiskey burned its way down his throat. He felt the immediate static run through his body, as he clutched the glass to his chest, leaned back in his chair, and pressed play one more time.

_ Are you really answering work emails right now? _

He lifts the bottle, gulping down another shot. 

_ Fine … just for you _ .

The taste buds in his tongue have been damaged, as the bottle feels lighter against his mouth with another drink. 

_ Are you really answering work emails right now? _

The liquid gold fills his bloodstream, and he gives in to the bottle again. 

_ Fine … just for you _ .

The last drop swirls around his tongue; the bottle empty. 

_ Are you really answering work emails right now? _

* * *

Abby flips open her laptop and opens up the FaceTime app, before making her way over to the fridge. It was two in the morning, and suddenly all she wanted was hot chocolate. As she grabbed the milk, the familiar ringtone echoed through the kitchen.

This wasn’t the first call she had with Clarke, maybe the sixth, and they were progressing. At the beginning, they hardly talked at all. Then by the third call, Abby had just let Clarke talk about everything, not wanting to share how she was doing at all. But Clarke always asked, and Abby always shook it off with her natural ability to dodge questions she didn’t want to answer. 

“Hey!” Clarke greeted her, a cup coffee in her hands, and earphones in. 

“Good morning,” Abby smiled, fixing the camera so she could talk to Clarke while she made her own warm drink. 

“What are you wearing?” Clarke asked, leaning in closer to her screen to get a better look at her mom. Abby was in black leggings, and basically drowning in Jake’s huge dark red sweater from MIT, she even had to roll up the sleeves to see her hands. Her hair was pulled into a loose messy bun at the top of her head, and fuzzy white crew cut socks on her feet. “You look like a state school girl part of a sorority,” Clarke teased, then took a sip of her drink.

“You live in Europe for three months and suddenly get snobby about fashion,” Abby rolled her eyes, and twirled around once, “I’m comfortable!”

“I can see that,” Clarke widened her eyes, the playful smirk never leaving her lips, “didn’t know you still had dad’s sweater …”

“Of course I do,” Abby answered softly, filling the pot on top of the stove with milk. Clarke could feel the mood of the call turning somber. 

“I hope you wash it, that thing is older than I am!” Clarke joked. 

They talked about friends Clarke was making, her art classes, the food, and more places Clarke had the chance to visit. They talked about Abby’s current infatuation with exercise at ridiculous hours of the day,  _ multiple _ times a day, books she was reading through so fast like they were glasses of water and she was parched, and the discussed the delayed answer on Reese’s surgery. They talked until it hit 3 a.m. and Clarke could see her mother checking out from tiredness. 

Abby smiled sleepily into the camera, “Okay my sleep schedule is off, but not this off.”

“Yeah, thanks for talking to me at this time,” Clarke replied. 

“Of course honey,” Abby told her, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Clarke repeated. They waited in a few moments of silence, that always happened before they each decided this wasn't the end, that another call would happen soon enough. But before her mom could say goodbye she gently asked, “Have you talked to him?”

Abby’s eyes fell, her mouth opened then closed then opened again, “Briefly.”

“When?”

Abby tugged at the bun on her head, closing her eyes and tilting her head trying to decide how to explain in the simplest of terms, “Octavia was dealing with some stuff, so she ran away and came to our house, and he didn’t know where she was, so I talked to him after she called to say she was okay.”

Clarke gulped, fighting with the sudden lump in her throat, “You didn’t tell me Octavia was having trouble.”

Abby’s eyes opened, finding her daughters sharp blue orbs, “Well you guys aren’t exactly on speaking terms yet are you?”

“No,” Clarke said almost bitterly, “she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

Abby nodded slowly, “Oh, well she’s doing better now. Just give her time, she’ll come around.”

“So you’ve been hanging out with Octavia a lot?” Clarke asked quietly. 

“I mean not a lot,” Abby gently replies, sensing the change in Clarke’s tone, “we talk on the phone, sometimes we meet in Polis for lunch, but I just went with her to find her prom dress yesterday. It’s  _ beautiful _ , and black of course. I did get her to try on one floral dress though, so that was pretty great.”

Clarke watched her mother smile softly, “That’s good … I remember when we went to find mine together.” 

Abby knows what Clarke is beginning to feel, and she didn’t really know how to counter it. Clarke was countries away, and simply couldn’t be there for her mother as much as she wanted. And Abby, at the end of the day, no matter her own circumstances, didn’t want Clarke to worry about her and miss out on her time abroad. 

“Clarke you know-” Abby began, but Clarke interrupted her.

“No I’m glad you guys are still there for each other,” Clarke tried to sound bright, and her over-enthusiasm came across as just about the opposite, “I know how much your relationship meant to her.”

“Well-”

“Actually, I’m late for my first class,” Clarke croaked rapidly, “I should get going, I love you mom, talk to you soon!”

“I love you to-” Abby tried to say before Clarke disappeared, and was met with the silence of her house. “ _ Okay _ ,” Abby whispered to herself with a heavy a sigh. 

She shut the laptop, and grabbed her phone ready to head upstairs. Just as she felt the cool glass in her hands it vibrated. Abby clicked off the kitchen light, and began climbing the stairs, one at a time slowly, while she looked down at his name next to a voicemail message. The thing was he hadn’t even tried calling. There were no missed calls ahead of him. No, he’d just sent her a voicemail. Abby reached her bedroom, and shut the door, before sitting motionlessly at the edge of her bed. 

It was three fifteen in the morning. _He’s probably drunk Abby,_ she told herself. _Don’t listen to it. But what if something happened? No he would’ve called_ _first_. _God damn it_. She tossed the phone further away on her bed, pulling out her bun. But she couldn’t stand it, so she immediately stretched for the device and slid open the message. 

It was long. That much she could tell from the duration description. It didn’t stop her from pressing play and lifting the phone to her ear. It takes a few seconds for him to start talking, as she sits in the dark of her bedroom, waiting for him to speak. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” his voice is rough, slurred, almost detached, “that I’m drunk. Well, you know what,” she can hear him bitterly laugh, and it makes her sad, “I am. I’m fucking wasted. But if this is,” he pauses for a small hiccup, “if this is what it takes for me to call you, so be it.” 

Abby listens to him pause, and she thinks she hears him take another gulp of something, “Do you know how hard it is to wake up every morning and have to get out of bed knowing you’re not there with me? That I won’t hear you? See you? Hold you? Be able to fuck you?” His last words strained, and Abby’s throat tightens. “Of course you do,” Marcus whispers, “because you  _ loved me _ Abby,” his words come out hard, accusing, “you loved me  _ almost _ as much as I loved you.”

She wants to grab her keys and drive to him, wherever he is, just to make sure he gets home safe. But his voice croaks through the speaker vehemently, “And maybe you’ll delete this before you even listen to it. But I  _ know you _ , Abby. And you’re alone too, somewhere in the dark, listening to me fall apart, trying to act like you’re okay, but you miss me just as much as I miss you.”

Abby clutches at the sheets of her bed with her free hand, feeling the blood in her veins flowing rapidly, “And you’re thinking if I loved you so much how could I have done something so awful. How could I have lied to my daughter and run from my mother for years at a time?” she hears him take another drink, “But I told you, Abby. I told you when we met. I manipulate people.”

The faint memory of his words fly through her head,  _ "I make nice. I ask the right questions, and I always -- always -- have an agenda with clients. I manipulate people to make the right choices. It's my job.” _

Another hiccup falls ungracefully through his lips, “And I’m fucking good at it Abby, I’m so fucking good at it, because you want to know who I’ve manipulated to the point of complete delusion?” Marcus hisses into the phone, his voice uneven from breathing raggedly, “ _ Myself _ .”

Abby feels her body give out beneath her as she slips down to the floor, bringing her knees up to her chest, gripping his confession tight against her ear, her heart ripping open all over again, “I’m a lost cause baby,” she hears him exhale with a shaky breath, “that’s why you left. Why I’m alone, on my second bottle of whiskey in my empty office, calling the only woman I’ll ever love. The woman who looked at me in my frailest shameful form … and chose to walk away. And I know you want me to sit here and say that I don’t blame you, that how could I ask you to stay? Well,  _ fuck that _ . Fuck that sorry saying to hell. You said  _ you saw me _ . We were  _ engaged _ . You were going to be  _ my wife _ . And you  _ walked away _ … And I  _ let you _ … I didn’t fight hard enough … I didn’t try to explain that all my choices were to make a good life for you and Octavia. That I couldn’t bring the burden and misfortune and complete shame of my mistake with my mother into your life.”

And he’s not fully right, Abby knows he’s not, but his words delve into her skin, digging into her conscious. 

“But perhaps even more honest, I thought if I told you … you’d leave. You’d think I wasn’t the man you thought I was. Well,  _ I am _ Abby. I am the one you called when you felt like everything was too much. I am the one you held after failed surgeries and Wilson’s passing away. I am the one you came home to at night and woke up to in the morning. I am the one who could make you laugh, and feel, and love. And I  _ made a mistake _ . And I  _ need you to forgive me _ , Abby. I can’t walk through this alone. It’s been three months,  _ come back to me _ . Please,  _ I love you _ more than anything in this whole stupid world. Just tell me what I need to do. I’ll step down from my job, I’ll move to Ton DC, I’ll go to counseling --  _ anything _ .  _ Everything. Always _ .  _ Forever. _ Because I love you.”

Abby hears him fight for her over the phone, her body tired from the tense strain it’s had since the start of his message, her eyes rimmed with light red, fighting with her emotions to stay in control. 

“But you know all that,” he whispers, “you know all that … and you’re still not here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Mentioned: Cosmic Love - Florence and The Machine
> 
> Right ... deep breaths ... bear with me! 
> 
> (I also just want to say that people deal with tough situations in all kinds of ways. I never want to belittle or dramatize very real mindfulness issues. Friendly reminder, you're never alone. Okay off my soapbox!)
> 
> I sincerely hope these chapters aligned with the characters as we see them, and I had a great time writing it! Your feedback always means the world, because I too am learning with each freshly written chapter. Stay tuned, stay curious, and let's get this story done by the April season premiere! 
> 
> Much appreciation to you all!


	20. Black Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158383835@N05/39152197140/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "One sip, his skin is whiskey on my lips  
> All this waiting  
> This feeling inside my bones"

People don’t open the doors to _Suerte_ without a goal in mind. The name itself means, “piece of luck.” It lived on the corner of Seventh street, next to Polis’ finest restaurants and bars. It was also only a block down from the financial district, purposefully of course. If you worked in the city long enough, you learned the motives behind meeting at each distillery, club, cocktail and wine bar. More so, if you sought lust in the city, pretty rich human that you are, _Suerte_ was the place.

If you walked by, you’d see valet boys fighting over which Alfa Romeo, Mercedes C-Class, or BMW they got to park. There was never a line to get in, and not a solid window to show you what went on inside. It had a reputation for being the best place to keep secrets, share a room in that one thin hallway, and never look back. That’s why it was the best for analysts and venture capitalists and visiting wolves to have a fun night. They needn’t worry about the details. It was also _safe_ ; with strict regulations and rules of engagement, of which made it even more desirable.

And that’s why when the door opened late that night, a beautiful woman in a silk black slip dress approached the bar without a look of hesitation in her eyes. The dress had been a gift, and as a testament to her own strength she wore it tonight. She wanted to rid the memories, the feeling, the attachment lingering on the expensive Chinese fabric.

Abby did indeed enter _Suerte_ with a goal: forget everything.

* * *

A strange emotion overtook Abby as she turned into the hospital parking lot that morning. The doors still opened, families still walked from here to there, and above all it kept operating. That was the part she was never fully okay with. How things could continue, improve, if not stay the same, since your presence.

Her office was untouched, but not dusty. She sat stiffly on her desk chair, twiddling her fingers, trying to remember her presentation from many weeks ago. But all she had in her head was _his_ voice in that message _pleading_ her to come back.

Abby would be lying if she said she hadn’t contemplated the idea for the past two nights. And yet she didn’t pick up the phone, and she didn’t drive to Arkadia. She needed more than a drunken call at three a.m. Nevertheless, she woke up on the third day to a meeting request on her email to discuss the decision on Reese’s surgery.

Now here she was, in a crisp pencil skirt, emerald green blouse, and black heels. A loose strand of hair fell from her half clipped ponytail. She tucked it back into one of the bobby pins holding her untamed locks.

They had taken too long and it made Abby irritable far more than anxious. She could place bets on her skill alone. But this was pride, and she tried tirelessly to remove herself from the equation. Reminding herself to approach her proposal from that of the board.

“If you remove the humanity,” Marcus had whispered one night to her, as his fingers roamed down her bare spine, caressing soft waves dried fresh from her shower, “it’s high risk, high reward. Plain and simple.”

“Reese isn’t a fresh tech startup,” Abby had sighed, her cheek resting firmly against his chest.

“But she is a front page news story to the board … if it’s successful,” he whispered, “and you know I’m right.”

Abby hadn’t replied.

Now, Jackson knocked softly on her door before peeking his head in.

“Need someone to accompany you?”

Abby smiled, pushing herself up, “All the way down the hall? I mean if you’re offering.”

Jackson enveloped her in a tight hug, “Good to see you.”

“You too,” she replied truthfully.

They walked side by side until the dark wooden door of the conference room was in front of them. Abby squeezed Jackson’s hand one more time before entering. The ambiance wasn’t unwelcoming. However, the large boardroom only had a single person sitting at the end of the table.

President Gibson’s sharp blue eyes invite Abby to sit down, and she did so hesitantly.

“Where is everybody?” Abby smiled through her teeth.

“Oh it’s unnecessary to have everyone in for this,” Gibson comments slyly.

“Mm,” Abby tilts her head, “I’d say it’s pretty necessary.”

“You look good,” Gibson nods at her trying to change the subject.

“What’d you expect?” Abby almost scoffs, “I wasn’t going to waltz into this wearing my pajamas.”

“I’m just saying you look good.”

“Why does everyone think that’s a compliment?”

“You’ve been gone almost four months Abby,” Gibson continues in a steady voice, “we didn’t know _what to expect_ when we called you back.”

“Don’t tell me you delayed the decision on my behalf?”

“Of course not.”

“Great.”

They both lock eyes on the other. Abby knew how others felt under Gibsons stare. The way her cobalt orbs raked over your appearance. She made people uncomfortable, on edge, even scrutinized without saying a word. When in reality, Gibson was just observing. Abby hated how people saw Gibson. To her she was just reserved. A strong woman trying to keep her professionality. A woman in charge.

“I need to ask Abby,” Gibson looked down at her closed padfolio, “when do you plan on coming back? The hospital … it needs you. We can’t have our chief on leave for half a year.”

Abby leans back, unexpectant of the question. Gibson wasn’t wrong. She should not have been gone this long. But time … just kind of flew.

“Tell me the consensus on Reese, and I’ll give you an answer.”

Gibson’s lips purse out, and she barely nods.

“Your side was argued ad nauseam Abby,” Gibson begins, here eyes finding Abby, leaning forward on her elbows, “ _I_ advocated for you to do the surgery. However, it was decided that the hospital will not move forward with Reese’s operation. She will continue her time here on her regular medication and check-ups. But we will not be performing the surgery. I’m sorry.”

The answer isn’t concrete to Abby. It means nothing because it’s not what she _wants_. This fight to her is not over. Yet, another roadblock has appeared.

“  _Who_ opposed?” Abby asks through her teeth.

“You know I can’t disclose th-”

“They listen to you,” Abby cut her off, “ _all of them_. So what the hell happened?”

Gibson can no longer maintain eye contact.

“  _Sofia!_ ” Abby pleads, addressing Gibson by her first name, and the crisp blue eyes quickly flicker at her, “Let me talk one on one with whoever said-”

“Abby you made your case!” Gibson lifts her hands to hush the doctor in front of her, “It was a good one. A _goddamn_ perfect one.” Sofia brushes her blonde layers away from her face, “I _pushed_ every bit of research and used every ounce of _my_ belief _in you_ to persuade them.”

Abby feels every nerve in her body on fire. Nothing eases the hard grip she has on her own wrist, clenching it within her right hand. Her own pulse beats wildly against her fingertips.

Gibson sighs, “But you and I both know how hard it is to convince people to overlook their emotions and focus on the science.”

Abby’s eyes soften and she feels stupidly betrayed, “It was Reese’s father.”

Gibson opens her mouth, but nothing follows.

“Her _own father_ said no?!” Abby practically shouts in the room. Before allowing Gibson even a moment to create a response, Abby has shoved herself away from the long wooden conference table.

“Abby!” Gibson calls out, as the petite woman stomps her way out of the room en route to Reese.

The world passes by Abby in a blur. She’s high on her own endorphins. Every shout at her is muffled, even Jackson’s.

It doesn’t take long for Abby to push open Reese’s room, to find the young girl sleeping peacefully in her bed. Her father trying to fix her gaming device, on the couch by her bedside. Her presence startles him and he nearly drops the screwdriver in his hand. His eyes widen with fright at the look on Abby’s face.

“Dr. Griffin?” he asks quietly to not wake his daughter.

“Can I speak to you outside?” she hisses but doesn’t wait for him to reply as she slips out of the room as hastily as she had waltzed in.

“Abby,” she hears Jackson call from down the hall, Gibson hot on his heels. Juliet turns the corner on the opposite end of the hall, and it’s not meant to corner her. But it makes Abby feel caged in, and only adds to her frustration.

Reese’s dad takes a single step out of the room before Abby harshly states, “Don’t do this.”

He automatically knows what she is referring to, “What a way confidentiality goes in this place-”

“You can still change your mind!” Abby pleads, “I promise you, I can save your daughter’s life.”

Juliet tries her best to not cringe at the words flowing from Abby’s mouth. Doctor’s were never to promise anything, to guarantee anything. Abby shouldn’t be doing this.

“Enough,” Gibson scolds as she approaches Abby further.

“She’s just a kid,” Reese’s father argues, “it’s _too_ dangerous. I’m not risking ending her life earl-”

“But you are!” Abby yells to the better of her, stopping everyone in their tracks, “You can _do_ something about it! You know that she’s dying!” Abby growls, her eyes accumulating tears. Suddenly, arms have wrapped around her torso pulling her back. “This is how we can save her!” Abby tries to pull out of the tight hold, as her words take a different meaning, “You see it, you coward. You were given a chance to save her and you chose not to,” Abby persists.

“Abby stop,” someone whispers in her ear, and it occurs to Abby that Juliet is the one pulling her away.

“If she dies,” Abby states in a dark tone, “that’s _on you_.”

“Dr. Griffin!” Gibson shouts, and it’s the end. There is no coming back from this. But Abby doesn’t see Gibson. She doesn’t see Jackson. She doesn’t see Reese’s father. She sees …

“It’s not Jake,” Juliet murmurs into her ear, as she is pulled into one of the supply rooms.

Between the stacks of empty manila folders, packages of white printing paper, and endless medical supply, Juliet clutches Abby against her chest. Her friends' strong arms hold her up. As Abby’s hands lift to cover the cried coming from her mouth.

“She’s not Jake,” Juliet tells her in her ear, “this won’t bring him back, Abby.”

Abby holds Juliet’s arms around her letting the truth of the words sink in.

“Enough,” Juliet whispers, “it wasn’t your fault babe,” the world becomes silent, “it wasn’t your fault.”

 

* * *

The hospital thanked Abby for all she had done for them. But, there was no room for her after everything she spouted at Reese’s father. Abby knew she was lucky that he didn’t press charges. She was lucky that they allowed her to resign as chief, and not publicly let go of her. What was next? She didn’t know.

It’d been a few days, and Abby knew numb and fine were not the same. She was completely aware of every decision she was making tonight. She knew it was a short-term fix. But at least it fixed _something_ , for a small while.

The first man to sit next to her had kept his wedding band on. And even if she was being reckless, for fucks sake, she still had morals. The second man talked so much, not even her second glass of whiskey could make him a touch more desirable. Luckily, both men caught on quickly that something just wasn’t clicking, and that was the best part of this place. Take the social cue, which in this case was Abby’s blank stare and straight line smile, and leave.

The bartender lifted the bottle of whiskey at her, and she thought maybe for a moment he knew her the best, but she lifted her hand declining his offer. It’d been almost an hour, and although the alcohol was deep within her system, she was no closer to her goal than when she entered the lounge.

“I think I’m done actually,” she spoke up over the house music.

“How about some tequila instead?” a deep kind voice asked behind her, his fingers graced the bar seat at her side. He didn’t sit; he was waiting for an invitation or in actuality, her _approval_.

Abby looked over her shoulder at him. He was handsome, grossly so. In a crisp navy suit, a cooler tone of blue as his dress shirt underneath, he knew how to dress according to his athletic build. His dark brown hair accented his colored eyes, and he was far above Abby’s eve level even though she was lifted from her regular height by the barstool. She didn’t speak, only nodded once, letting him occupy the seat beside her.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid onto the tough leather, “You guys have Del Maguey Mezcal?” he asked the bartender. After affirmation, they left it up to the man over the counter to concoct a drink.

“So,” he turned to her after the drinks had been placed in front of them, “beautiful lady, questionable club, vacant chair now taken by yours truly, what’s your story?”

Abby took a sip of the drink, letting the smokey taste of the tequila soak into her tongue, “No ring, nice manners, questionable club,” she pauses, as his lips lift into a smirk, “what’s your story?”

“Defense attorney,” he states a little too quickly.

Abby laughs, “Yeah, okay, we’ll pretend that's true.”

“Shit, I didn't sit next to an actual lawyer did I?” He teases, lifting the glass to his lips.

“Afraid so,” she shrugs.

They maintain eye contact, as the sweet liquid runs down his throat, in agreeance of their fake identity. This is why they were here.

“Horrible day at the office?” He inquires, his voice laced with just a hint of concern, a touch of gentleness.

Abby twirls her finger around the edge of her glass, “Horrible year actually,” she takes another gulp, “and it's only summer.”

He examines her across the small space between them, her eyes fluttering closed as she swallowed her beverage. No phone in sight. No rush to head back to where she slept at night. He was curious of her, and took note of her strange need to keep the glass in her palms at all times, as if it would slide off the wood and break. He tentatively reached out his hand, “Nicholas.”

Abby looks down at the open palm, then back to his sea green eyes; open, vulnerable, seeking comfort. He’s not lying. She takes his hand within her own, “Okay.”

Her hand slips from his, and he’s disappointed that she didn’t share her own name. But instead of asking again, all he says is, “Okay.”

They drink, and drink, and drink until Abby can’t feel her lips. She can already see the horrible morning of tomorrow, persuading her to call it a night. She needed to thank him for the drinks, and get the hell out of there. But he was kind, and funny, and sometimes that’s enough for the night. And all she needed was a night.

“Do you dance?” he suddenly asks her. As the night grew, the music had changed into sultry vibes with all different kinds of languages.

Abby almost laughs at the question, but instead she finished off her last glass, and answers him with another question, “To this?”

He leans in closer, “Yes, to this.”

She can smell the cologne he meticulously sprayed at the pulse point of his neck. Deep, a bit of sage, and some wood notes. There were pieces of him that felt familiar, glimpses of character that she liked, and when she took his cold smooth hand and let him lead her to the dark dance floor, Abby knew why she had allowed him to entertain her this far.

But as he turned her around, and pulled her waist back against him, she closed her eyes. He knew how to move with her. Even in her heels, he was looming over her. He was tall, taller than Marcus, and if she could bet, she’d say almost exactly Jake’s height -- and that made her feel _something_.

The room was dizzying, and his hands felt heavy on her skin, warm against her bare shoulder blades. He was well past drunk too. And she hadn’t even tried to figure out why he was here to begin with. She didn’t care enough.

Then she felt his heat at her ear, “I can help you,” he murmured, his palms closing over the hands she kept near her. His arms were draped over her shoulders, his back curling to match her height.

Abby stilled at his words, and felt her own fall from her mouth. Even if she wasn’t quite sure how they formed she spoke bravely, “And what makes you think I need help?”

She turned in his arms, her eyes challenging him, her chin lifting with pride. His hand flew to the base of her neck, and Abby watched him carefully as he lowered himself to repeat in her ear, “I can make you _forget_. I want to.”

Abby gulps, as his lips graze the skin of her neck and she can’t feel them as he pulls away. His eyes dagger into her own, and what happened next she knew would change everything. Abby turned and led them to the hallway hidden at the back of the club.

She couldn’t feel her heart racing, as he held up a heavy thick red curtain for a tiny unoccupied room, barely lit. He clipped the hook hanging from the curtain to the matching one on the wall. Letting others know they shouldn’t enter.

It didn’t feel right when he lifted her so effortlessly off her feet, and held her against the cool wall. Her eyes closed when his hands gripped her thigh firmly around his waist. Then he said something that surprised her, “You don’t have to let me in. But I need to hear you say you’re okay with this.”

Abby’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his intense gaze only a few centimeters from her face. For a moment she thought his colored eyes were brown. But it only took one second to blink that mistake away.

“Make me forget,” she told him in a soft broken whisper, “It’s okay … I just need to forget … everything.”

Nicholas leaned forward with all intentions of capturing her mouth with his own, but Abby turned her head, his lips dropping to find the skin of her shoulder instead. He traced patterns on her skin with his soft tongue, and pressed against her with hard touches. He was trying to make her feel; focus on the weight of his fingers massaging her leg; the way he nipped roughly at the space between her shoulder and neck.

When he lifted her dress higher, shifting their angle, is when she caught sight of herself in the small oval mirror across the room. Her hair was tousled, the strap of her dress hanging off her shoulder, her drunken stare reflecting back to her. She saw her hands mindlessly tugging at the back of his head, pulling on nothing but air, because he didn’t have thick long hair like who she imagined. She found herself holding his face in her hands, smooth skin on skin, no barrier of soft hair against her palm.

“You’re not him,” Abby murmured, as she clutched onto his shoulders, losing the strength to help him keep her body upright.

“I don’t want you,” she whispered so low he couldn’t hear her over the music. But her head fell forward, and the hot tears at the sides of her eyes ran down to fall against his bare hands.

“You’re not him,” she repeated a little louder. His head lifted from the top of her chest, and he found her torn expression.

Without another thought, he gently placed her back down. Abby took a seat on the black leather futon only a few feet away, her head falling into her hands. Nicholas rubbed his palms against his dress pants nervously, waiting to make sure she was okay.

“I can’t,” Abby started, “I can’t do this to him.”

Nicholas nodded, and then bent down in front of her, “Do you need me to call you a cab? Order you an Uber, Lyft?”

Abby can’t help but smile a bit at this, “No I can manage.”

“Okay.” He takes one last long look, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, before pushing himself up.

“Nicholas?” Abby asks as he unhooks the curtain.

“Yes?” he turns to face her.

Abby doesn’t hesitate, “Why are you here?”

His eyes crinkle on their sides, a sad smile on his lips, “You remind me of her.”

It doesn’t answer her question, but she doesn’t stop him as he lifts the curtain over his head and makes his way out of the room.

* * *

The countdown to seeing her daughter was becoming something Abby could not help but think of every day. In seven days she would be on a flight to Italy. In seven days Clarke would be in her arms, and all she wanted to do was be dragged around from here to there by the new graduate.

What Abby didn’t want, was to be at Senator Jaha’s cocktail party tonight. He was going to use it to announce his re-election campaign. Although he never explicitly told her this, she was sure that’s why she was badgered to attend by his office.

Abby had a million ways to get out of the party, but then she saw who else was on the email list. There could only be one “mkane@ams.com.” _He probably won’t even attend, Abby thought, he must get a ton of these kinds of invitations._ However, the small chance that he would be in the same penthouse was enough to have her staring at dresses for almost thirty minutes.

She settled on a crisp white sleeveless sheath dress and matching heels. Abby looked at herself in the long mirror of her bathroom. Her hair curled loosely, falling down her shoulders. Her skin glowing from the almost hour process she put into it. Small pearls on her ears, and a thin silver wrap bracelet on her left wrist.

She reached over for the small glass case that held her rings and opened up the box for the first time since January. The ring hadn’t lost its spark. It caught even the smallest ray of light and shined up at her. Abby released a breath as her fingers moved over it, and instead she grabbed a silver ring she wore on casual occasions. Then before she could catch a glimpse of the beautiful ring she truly ached to slip on, she practically slammed the delicate glass case shut.

* * *

The elevator opened to a small lobby. Abby could hear smooth music coming from the open room only a few feet down the hall. She was late on purpose. If there were more people, the less likely she would have to talk to Thelonious one on one, and the less likely she could make out _his_ face in the swarm of people.

The hum of conversation flew through her ears, and she pathetically tried not to narrow in on the possibility of his voice among them. All she had to do was turn the corner. If she turned the corner into the penthouse all her anxiety would seem ridiculous, because _he wasn’t there_. All of this counting on fate could be laughed at a year from now.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little cocktail party,” a voice teased from behind her.

She knew that voice. It consoled her for a fleeting moment many weeks ago. Abby turned to find green eyes looking down at her, a cocky smile on his face. A blush crept over her own before she could stop it.

Out of the people she thought she’d see, he was nowhere close to her idea. His suit was nice, too nice, and she couldn’t remember if he looked this pompous that night.

 _That night,_ she thought, almost shaking her head in disapproval of herself. _Oh my god,_ Abby internally screamed, _stupid stupid stupid girl._ But on the exterior she was calm, if not ridiculously collected. She had all intentions of letting him know that he was _not_ to speak of their previous encounter. But as he gazed down at her, she could see he already knew.

“I’m not afraid,” Abby shook her head.

“I don’t know,” he joked, “you seemed a little frightened a second ago.”

“I just wasn’t-” she sighed running a hand through her hair, “you’re not who I expected.”

“Do I look different in this lighting? Not like you remembered?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. He was annoying, almost in an endearing way, “you look fine.”

“Mmmm,” Nicholas hummed, “I did not spend a ridiculous amount of money on this suit to look fine. I’m afraid I’ll have to burn it now.”

Abby found herself unable to hide the small smirk forming on her lips. Nicholas took a step forward, and she smelt the cologne from that night.

“You look … good,” he told her. And she could see it, the glint in his eye as he grazed over every spot on her face, every curvature of her body. And for a second she thought, _maybe this is why I’m supposed to be here._

“Not too pretentious?” Abby asked with some humor in her voice.

Nicholas took another step forward, “Just the perfect amount of pretentious to be on this guest list.”

And she couldn’t help but throw her head back laughing, “You’re funny.”

“I am,” he nods and takes a huge step to stand in front of her. “Now let’s try this again,” he murmurs as he sticks out his hand, “Nicholas.”

Abby looks down at his hand, chewing her lip as she decides whether she wants to take this next step. _He’s not here Abby,_ she cries inside her head.

Then she takes his hand for a brief shake, “Abby.”

Nicholas’ lips grow into a wide grin, “Okay Abby … how about we get some drinks?”

They turn the corner together, and Nicholas makes a smart comment about the rest of the guest list. Which means the first sight Marcus gets of Abby is with a bright smile on her face, because he can detect that laugh anywhere. At first, he tries to blink the image of her in that gorgeous fitted white dress away, hoping his mind was playing tricks on him. _But it’s her_ , and she doesn’t scan the room for his broken eyes. Instead, she walks side by side this man in a dashing suit towards the bar and Marcus feels his blood begin to boil.

He was almost the whole room away from her, making conversation with a group of people in one of the corners of the penthouse. And neither of them say a word as he lifts his fresh old fashioned, and downs the entire glass in one movement. Abby looked beautiful to him. A flash of the sun against all the monotone colors that made up the people of the city.

 _Who is that?_ He growls mentally, _He’s wearing a Tom Ford suit for_ fucks _sake. Why is Abby with him?_

 

* * *

His name was Nicholas Joseph Strange, and he was the most loved political monster in the tri-city area. If you wanted to win, you hired Nick. Plain and simple. He had been married, happily so, and he still loved his ex-wife. He always would. But he made choices.

In a parallel universe his wife would be at his side, and their only daughter would be in the corner somewhere with her earbuds in. She used to have a book in her hands at all times when she was a child. She’d be dragged from fundraiser, to town hall, to celebratory dinner, and each time she’d find the most desolate area and sit down and read.

He loved his daughter. He missed her. He missed his ex-wife. But this is what he did. What he did _well_. Actually, fuck _well_. It’s what he did better than anyone else in the country. And he couldn’t justify forcing his now older daughter to join him on the trail anymore.

This night would not exist if he chose his family over his work. That was the problem. He chose to fulfill a career that brought him meaning and purpose. And at the end of the day he was not going to put his family through his painful absence. If preserving his relationship with his daughter meant one weekend every two months, instead of consistently failing to be there twenty-four seven, so be it. At least some level of fatherly mediocrity was expected.

“You’re a father?” Abby almost spits out her drink. He had sat them down in a lounge in the corner of one of the rooms.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he quipped bitterly, before taking another sip of his bourbon.

“How old is she?” Abby inquired.

“Eighteen.”

“And she hates your guts?”

“No,” he smiles sadly, “she likes me. I’m a nice guy you know. I just-”

“Ruin people’s lives in order to elect a man who's not so awesome himself, but slightly better than the other candidates?”

“A fucking men,” Nicholas laughed breathlessly. His forehead fell, the cool drink in between both palms of his hands. He wasn’t a _good guy_. He knew this, and so did Abby.

“Who did I remind you of?” she asked suddenly, her glass empty in her hands now, “Or _do_ remind you of?”

Nicholas is silent for a long time. Letting the low music control the conversation for a while. Abby had lounged back, her legs crossing over the other, patiently waiting for his answer.

“Her name is Emma,” he looks up at her and his green eyes stop her breath. They’d changed from a warm seaside to a steely forest, “my ex-wife, and that’s _all you get_.”

Abby pulls her bottom lip between her teeth before asking with wide deep brown eyes, “Why?”

“Because you’re not being equal Abby. All we’ve been talking about is me. Where I’m from. What I do. Who I am. When all I know about you, is your name. So save your questions until you’re willing to answer some yourself.”

It came out sharp, practically hostile. It woke her up.

“You shouldn’t have bothered entertaining me this far,” Abby murmurs, placing her glass down and moving to stand up. He reaches out to place a soft hand on her arm. She freezes, as his fingers curl around her elbow lightly.

“Don’t go,” he whispers.

Her eyes fall to where they meet, “I don’t owe you anything Nicholas.”

“I know.”

“So stop asking me to pay up,” Abby sighs sitting back down, “and also I meant _why_ do I remind you of her?”

His hand falls from her arm, and he looks at her, _really_ looks at her at the forefront of everyone else in his vision. She was only facing him, and the city view behind his head.

“I don’t know. I can’t describe it enough to do you both justice,” he huffs, “All I know is that the moment I saw you finishing your second glass of whiskey, I knew someone had hurt you as much as I hurt my wife.”

“Why did you … hurt your wife?”

“She gave me thirteen years,” he sighed, “that was our deal. And it was great. She was the strongest force of nature I knew. She always had my back. She was my best friend. But when my daughter turned fourteen, she told me it was either them … or my work.”

Abby sat silent, as he continued, “And it _hurt_ her more than I thought it would.”

“How can you say that?” Abby hissed, her emotions hard to keep at bay, “How could you not know?”

“Strong people often are the ones who want to be … comforted, I don’t fucking know, strong people just want to breathe for the sake of breath sometimes. Not breathe to live. Not breathe to think. And she was fucking good at breathing for others too. For me.”

He stops to run a hand over his face, “And she didn’t cry. She didn’t throw things at me. She didn’t yell. She stood there and said _okay_. Steady and strong.”

“But?” Abby tugged a little harder.

Nicholas finishes his drink, “But … her eyes … they said it all.”

* * *

Marcus watches as Abby leaves to the bathroom. He watches as Nicholas’s eyes follow her until she turns the corner out of his sight. He had learned after inquiring with a few people, exactly who Nicholas was. Jaha’s very own campaign manager. A snake in his own right. He’d watched him with her the whole night, as he feigned interest in conversations with others.

At what point was Marcus going to make himself known to Abby at this party? He had thought about it quite a few times, but he saw Nicholas sit back on the sofa, man spreading, chest open, one arm on the back of the sofa rest. He looked _satisfied_.

It was at this moment that Marcus’s intuition, or rather ego, made him switch routes and approach Nicholas on the couch. Not before grabbing them both pre-made drinks on the bar.

Marcus sat down deliberately next to the man on the couch, placing his drink on the glass table in front of them, but before he could say anything Nicholas retorted, “I was waiting for you to come and introduce yourself.”

Marcus tried hard not to let his face change. _Did he know about him and Abby?_

“You want to be the PR and Marketing of this campaign don’t you? Well sell me on something that I can’t hire hungry undergrad students to do on social media _King Kane_.”

Marcus laughs, loud, a hearty _fuck you_ laugh.

“You’re lucky I attended this event to begin with Mr. Strange.”

“You can call me Nick.”

Marcus took a sip of his drink, “Please continue to call me _King_ ,” he smiles devilishly, “that’s a new one.”

“You’re the first person I was made aware of in the tri-city area,” Nicholas joins him in a drink, “surrounded by a lot of land and not a whole lot of people.”

“And yet no one on your team reached out to me,” Marcus quipped, “pity.”

Nicholas chuckles, “We can’t afford you. That’s the fun thing about playing this game,” he waves one hand around the room, “I can get someone to do what you do for _free_ , because of their morals and values and shit. I got volunteers lining up ‘til the coast.”

“Now I know why they call you a political animal,” Marcus comments some malice in his tone.

“ _Monster_ ,” Nicholas smiles with his sharp pearly white teeth, “political monster.”

“Mmm,” Marcus clenches his jaw, another sip of whiskey slipping down his throat.

“Wanna know why they call you King?” Nicholas leans forward, “‘Cause you got women lining up left and right to be your wife, hell lining up to simply fuck you, and yet you sit on your capitalist throne alone.”

Marcus feels the glass on the verge of cracking in between his hand. His breath deep, his lungs on fire, his veins pulsing.

“Still want to be called King, _King_?” Nicholas whispers before sitting back.

The men sit in a tense silence, until Nicholas speaks up again, “I don’t blame you, though. If anyone here gets you it's me. I have a daughter too. Unlike you, I have an ex-wife and fuck if I want to be with anyone but her. But we make choices right?”

Marcus stares at Nick, his demeanor suddenly honest, the monster at bay only for a second.

“We’re not the same,” Marcus answers him, almost to assure himself.

“You’re right,” Nicholas laughs leaning forward on his knees, “you don’t have to go to prestigious clubs to get a good fuck. See that’s where our worlds are different. I have to try harder at being discrete, given my line of business.”

“Didn’t seem like you were being too discrete a few minutes ago,” Marcus pulls for information.

“Ah,” Nick smirks, “you’re talking about the enigmatic Abby.”

Hearing her name come out of his mouth with such nonchalance makes Marcus’s blood begin to boil.

“There’s something about her,” Nicholas murmurs, “makes you want to keep peeling back each one of those God forsaken layers some asshole caused her to build.”

Marcus can’t help as a snort erupts from his lips, “ _You’re interesting._ Spouting about getting a good fuck, and yet you sit here acting like you genuinely care about this woman.”

“I don’t see why you can’t get both?” Nicholas responds with a low laugh, “And from our first time together … I think I’m addicted to her.”

Marcus falls silent, as every part of his body burns. He aches to reach over and smash Nicholas’s pretty face into the glass table. He also feels the pain of his heart being trampled on by each pressing thought of Abby with another man, with _this_ man in front of him. It causes his teeth to grind to a blinding madness. One that Nicholas is most oblivious too.

It’s then that Marcus sees a flash of white in the corner of his eyes. He wants to vomit, the thought of it all making him sick. He needs to leave.

“Well I’ll leave you to it,” Marcus raises his glass up to Nick, “have a good one.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Nicholas says, his eyes finding Abby’s back as she stopped to talk to Jaha.

“Right,” Marcus offers as he turns on his heels dodging the route that would lead him in Abby’s line of sight.

* * *

There’s nothing comforting about the crisp lemon scent and blinding white lights of the men’s restroom. The empty glass still in his hand has flung across to the opposite tiled wall. It shatters into tiny crystals, that rain down the white, and he’s tired of breaking everything. Of seeing it all crumble to the nothingness of shards on the floor.

Marcus turns to the mirror and recognizes the cold hues he hasn’t seen since he met Abby. The frustration of her presence and his inability to approach her have him clutching at the sinks handles. The steel does not mend to the pressure of his clenched fists. The water does not wash away the anger he feels at her for succumbing to the touch of a one Nicholas Strange.

The image of her bare body under someone else knocks him down the flights of stairs he’d climbed to be a better man. It’s this notion that makes Marcus straighten his suit, run a hand through his hair, and walk out of the men’s room. If it wasn’t so pitiful, it might have been impressive how smoothly he finished his two neat drinks.

He didn’t look over at where he knew she would be. Afraid to see something he could not erase from his head. His imagination was one thing. Life was another.

Instead, he did the one thing that awakened a faded sleeping demon. Like a dance he hadn’t performed for years but remembered so clearly -- he walked up to the group he had been semi-engaged with before. This time, he made longer eye contact with the woman to his left. He didn’t move away when she leaned in closer. It didn’t take long for him to be a few steps ahead of her, on their way to the elevator.

* * *

Against Nicholas’s wishes Abby eventually leaves him on the low leather couch to fend off the several young women who’d appeared to flash their red-bottomed heels and gold _Cartier_ bracelets at him. It was okay, to be at his side for the short hour she spent drinking manhattan after manhattan. But she wasn’t there for him, and she wasn’t going to leave with him either.

She had been too afraid to look for Marcus’s face among the crowd. What would she say? _Why didn’t you fight? Say it to my face. Find me. Chase me. Prove it to me._ That’s what she would say. And maybe it would fly from her lips with fervor. Maybe the words would spark a light in him to fight. But all her words fell silent when she turned the corner to the elevators and found him holding a curvy woman, kissing his neck without a care of who could see.

Abby’s knees go weak, and her clutch falls from her hands. For the first time in months, they’re only a few feet from each other. But this woman continues as their barrier. The alcohol rises from Abby’s stomach at his jaded appearance.

This was the Marcus she had heard of but had never seen. As the tightness in her chest increased, with every kiss placed on his throat, Abby never wanted to bear witness to him like this again. His hands hold the woman’s waist loosely, not caring if she stands or falls, indifferent to her mouth on his skin. He’s not present. Not the slightest.

Marcus opens his eyes … and it’s not when he finds her that he wakes up. _No._ It’s the moment he believes it’s not his imagination fucking with him that his trance is cut short.

Abby watches as his pupils dilate wider than she’d ever seen before. His detached demeanor has fled, and all of the color his orbs had lost has returned. In his dreams her upper lip wasn’t quivering, her eyebrows weren’t narrowed in, and her nose wasn’t scrunched.

Marcus opens his mouth to speak, but his throat cracks from the dry air.

Although it felt like an eternity, within seconds Abby has gathered herself -- bending down to retrieve her clutch and sprinting for the back stairwell. Her legs feel like noodles, moving simply on adrenaline. _He was here_ , she repeats in her head as she grips the railing with her sweaty palms. Her chest feels like it’s on the verge of exploding. But not even the loud beating of her heart or the hard blood pumping through her veins can drown out the strained, “ _Abby!_ ”

Marcus had pushed his way past the woman, catching the elevator before it closed him in. He squeezed sideways through the small space, calling out her name.

“Abby!” he cries, as he watches her figure disappear behind the heavy metal door. Without any thought, he races after her. Pushing open the same door. The yellow dim lights against the grey cement contrast her crisp outfit, and he tries in vain to catch up. He chases her down one flight of stairs. But she doesn’t stop, she pushes herself to run faster.

Just as she turns the corner of the fifth floor, a particular slippery spot of the cement causes her to stumble forward. She almost falls down the hard concrete steps but she feels a strong grip on the crook of her elbow. His fingers dig roughly into her skin, and her lungs drop as he uses his strength to pull her up and against the nearest wall.

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” he rasps at the side of her cheek.

His fingers one by one gently unfold around her arm. Abby can feel his chest only centimeters from her own. It doesn’t take opening her eyes to smell the strong scent of liquor falling from his lips.

“And what does it matter to you now?” she questions him.

Her irises are glowing, a flame lit within them. God he missed those deep chestnut orbs, even if they’re looking at him with distaste. He lifts a hand above her head to balance himself.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers with a hoarse voice.

Marcus tries to control his reactions as he is reminded of all the little things he had forgotten. The soft scent of her perfume as it filled the space around them. The way his body perfectly loomed over her, even though she wore heels. The slope of her hips in this particular dress.

“Why?” she hisses, “I just _saw_ you about to take that woman home. I obviously don’t matter enough to keep you from sleeping around again.”

Abby’s words are choked, reaching out for oxygen. The very feeling of him before her is unreal. But he’s _real_ , and _here_ leaning over her smelling like every time she took his bottom lip within her own. Abby can’t escape, as she is cornered strategically against the wall.

But as the words slip from her tipsy mouth, something changes in him. His eyes grow darker, his shoulders tense, and before she has time to utter another sound, he mimics her tone, “That’s _a lot_ coming from you right now.”

Marcus’s bottom lip is shaking. The vein in his neck pulsing wildly. His head falls, the mess of hair granting him cover against her stare.

“What are you talking about?” Abby fights back, nudging her head down and to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m just saying you could do better,” Marcus practically growls.

The words bathe their stiff bodies. Abby takes a moment to fully digest the meaning behind his words. He’d _seen_ her with Nicholas. The asshole had seen her this whole time, and not once approached her.

“You don’t get to say stuff like that,” she grits through her teeth, “I don’t care how drunk you are-”

“And whose fault do you think that is?!” he practically spits.

Before Abby can stop herself, she feels his chest beneath both her palms and shoves him back.

“You don’t get to blame me!” she cries, her voice sharp, her right index finger coming up aggressively to point at him. Abby looks at Marcus with wild bright eyes, a flush thoroughly taking over her cheeks.

It occurred to Marcus that he’d seen Abby in many different lights, but not the one before him. She was angry, _yes_ , but an angry that shook him to the core. An angry that made her want to cry simultaneously as throw every single item in her possession at him. An angry that frustrated her. An angry that showed she still cared about him with every fiber of her being. An angry that exemplified the extraordinary amount she missed him. An angry that was alive because he was there, _finally_ , only a few steps in front of her.

She lifted her trembling hands to hide her face. Praying for a moment of recovery. But the second her fingers touched her own cheeks, she fell back against the hard wall with exhaustion. And they stood there in the musky, borderline shady, staircase looking at one another -- wondering how on Earth they found themselves in this position.

“How long were you there?” she asks him in an even tone.

“Early enough to see you walk in with him,” Marcus tells her, completely unable to say Nicholas’s name out loud.

He watches her bottom lip slip between her teeth, as she pulls it into her mouth, gently rolling it roughly back and forth. She’s _processing_.

“And _that’s_ made you like _this_ ,” Abby lifts her hands to showcase him up and down. His dress shirt a little tousled, his beard a little untamed, the dark circles under his eyes resurfacing. All small things no one but she would notice. And although those were all things she was referring to. The most obvious thing Abby was calling out, was his current state of lubrication, all caused by negligent jealousy. “That’s _profoundly_ disappointing.”

Every device in his possession to save him from reducing himself to pure emotions has degraded at her words. He’s left in a complete raw like state, unlike he’s ever allowed himself to become. There is no rationality leveling his thoughts. He can find no excuse or explanation to serve his purposes.

“You know what,” Abby takes a step forward, and his breath stops as she moves a strand of hair away from his face, “just go smoke another cigarette,” her voice drops to a threatening octave, “and another, and another, and maybe that girl upstairs will still fuck you. And for your delay, _you can blame me_.”

Her words join the quiet staircase. They marinate their surroundings, slipping into every crevice their human bodies have. Marcus doesn’t move as he utters lowly through his lips, “I don’t smoke anymore.”

“Save it,” Abby says unbelievingly.

Before she can pick up a hand to stop him from explaining, the air is knocked out of her as she is thrust against the hard wall. She clenches her eyes in preparation for the collision she’s expecting her head to have with the concrete slab behind her. But his fingertips firmly interweave in her soft honey locks, and his palm creates a cushion for her safety. His hand gently slides to grip the nape of her neck, keeping her head lifted up to look at his rich dark eyes, piercing through her own. Abby can feel his other arm fully wrapping around her waist, holding her limp body up.

“We die on the same day,” Marcus tells her sternly, “that’s what you said.”

And Abby tries to beat him. She digs into her memory to remember a moment after their night on the balcony, where he was so stressed he bought another pack and lit one to have a faint break. But there is no other night.

“ _You_ became my cigarette Abby,” he leans down and caresses her forehead with his own, “you _are_ my cigarette.”

Abby’s eyes flutter closed, and it’s crazy to call it synthesis, but every moment he confided in her flashes before them. Every time she let him walk crazily from wall to wall in his bedroom trying to find a solution. Every flip from side to side he made in bed, until she held him in her arms, almost against his will, so he could fall asleep with the small weight of her body against him. Every midnight conversation. It all came back.

“Then how come I wasn’t enough?” Abby asks warily.

The rickety light of the old lamp at the far corner of the stairwell finally gives out. They’re left in the crimson shadows, only an exit sign illuminating their faces.

“What?” Marcus replies slightly bewildered.

Abby’s fingers have found the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling at them between her fingers, “Why would you lie to me, if you trusted me with so much? Why wasn’t I enough to know about your mother?”

Marcus can feel her body delicately trembling in his arms.

“Abby,” he whispers, his thumb running over her sharp cheekbone, “do you really need me to stand here and tell you how much more than _enough_ you are?”

“No,” she murmurs, “but I’ve wondered why you didn’t think so every day since you left.”

Marcus stares down at her silently. It’s taking a lot for her to say this out loud, even if he knows she’s said it a million times in her head. Abby waits, her hands finding the planes of his chest before her, and she knows one more push and she can flee forever.

“Abby our story hasn’t changed,” Marcus curls her into him, “you’re the strong one. But you couldn’t save me. I wanted you to. God, I wanted you to so badly. But I needed to save myself. All I needed to do was break, first.”

“But _you broke me_ Marcus,” Abby whimpers, “Don’t you see? You broke me too.”

Her hand presses against his wild heartbeat, drawing memories of their time on the hood of his car. He grabs her hand in his. Holding it between their pressed bodies.

“Let me fix what I broke,” his lips flutter against her own, and she craves so badly to lean into them. But his lips aren’t closure. His lips aren’t answers. But God, fuck the ends if the means taste like him.

Abby lifts her head up to capture his mouth with her own, and it’s like rain in a drought. Every crack filled and every plant watered. It does feel right when she lifts one of her legs to wrap around his hip, and his tongue slides between her lips. Her hands can pull at the length of his thick hair, and when she opens her eyes there are brown ones staring back at her.

How easy it felt to slip into old dances. Marcus kissed his way down her throat, unable to give rest to their built up emotions. Marcus grips her thigh firmly in his hand, her waist in the other. He lifts the fabric higher until it will stretch no longer. But he can feel the skim of her underwear and if he just …

“Abby,” he murmurs.

“Hmm,” she answers him.

“If I asked you to say you loved me, would you?”

“Marcus …”

“I need to hear it from you,” he breathes, “I need you to say it to my face, right now.”

Abby looks at him and knows he’s not _asking_ that. He knows she loves him. He needs to reaffirm something else.

“I wouldn’t sleep with someone to get back at you Marcus,” Abby whispers, her index finger trails over the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” he pauses, “that’s what scared me. You only sleep with people you really want to sleep with.”

“You idiot,” Abby states under her breath.

“Say it,” Marcus rubs his nose against hers, “please.”

“Say what?”

“Abigail Marie-“

“I love you, you fucking asshole,” she cries, gripping his face between her hands, “of course I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. But we’re not okay. This is not okay. We can’t just fall back into-“

But his lips crash down on hers, drowning out her concerns. Marcus can feel her struggle with what she feels and what she knows to be morally correct. Every long kiss interrupted by her thoughts, but he’s there to pull her back in.

“Marcus,” she mumbles against his lips, trying hard to fight the fluttering feeling in her stomach, “this doesn’t solve our problems.”

“But it’s a start,” he breathes, both his arms hugging her tightly against him. “Let’s go somewhere, just me and you, right now.”

“What are you talking about?

“We just need time alone,” he pleads, “I can’t … I can’t lose you again.”

“We can’t just go somewhere,” Abby shakes her head side to side.

“Why not?”

“Because you have daughter, one, and a business that needs you, two.”

“I’ll give it up, my work, I’ll give it up,” Marcus confesses, “Octavia will understand. I will give you all my time if we get through this Abby.”

“Marcus-“

“ _I love you_ ,” he shuts his eyes, “I love you so much and _I’m sorry_ …”

“I know you are,” Abby’s eyes close too, “I _heard_ you.”

And in the moment they don’t need to see each other to know how much love poured from their eyes. They clutch onto the other like a lifeline out at sea. One single heartbeat, the same pattern of breath, and no more walls.

“I shouldn’t have called you like that …” Marcus strains, “But it’s true. I should have fought.”

“What do you think you’re doing right now?” Abby questions.

Marcus opens his eyes, and Abby wipes the tear falling glacially down his right cheek before saying, “Let’s go _somewhere_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Sad, painful, devastating." These are the words they used to describe Kane and Abby in season 5! I mean I'm excited for the show!! But in this AU how about we wind it down a bit? This made me change some things (not big!) in these last few chapters, so sorry for the delay.) 
> 
> Honestly, at this point what is "less." This chapter was a bit out of my comfort zone, so let me know your thoughts. I love hearing from you all! I'm always grateful for your feedback, comments, and kudos always!
> 
> If you feel so inclined; I had "Black Mirror" by Sophie Simmons playing in my headphones 80% of the time I was writing this. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for staying interested!


	21. Aetheris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please handle my stupid words with care.) I truly hope you enjoy these final chapters!

On the first night upon arrival of the White Sands they’re drenched. It would have made Marcus laugh if only Abby wasn’t dramatically shivering in the dark cold lodge. They had escaped to a desert … kind of. The area consisted of rough terrain, pathwork trees, and large mountains.

The stars shined bright out in this desolate area. Tons of them contrasted against the deep indigo sky. Abby and Marcus would have been able to see them if this storm hadn’t waltzed right in uninvited. 

It wasn’t a resort. It wasn’t a couples counseling retreat either. It was _expensive_ Marcus thought.

It was _Aetheris_.

Their home for a few days. Four to be exact. _Aetheris_ was what _you_ needed it to be. Save children. It had everything from on site therapists and community group circles, to karaoke and professionally led mountain hikes. There was no pressure to participate, or engage in _any_ of the amenities provided by the site. However, for the price, it was wise to get what you came for.

Marcus reached over to flip on the light of the small dining area, only to find the power was out. His eyebrow lifted in curiosity, and he tried again to flip it on and then off. They stood listening to the whir of rushing nature outside the small sturdy cabin.

“Don’t say it,” Abby growled, her teeth shattering.

“Say what?” Marcus laughed under his breath, “That you chose the most expensive retreat on Earth and the light doesn’t even work?”

“It’s not a _retreat_!”

“Mhm,” Marcus murmured, twisting and turning to find another light source. “They used the latin word for heaven and sky as their name,” he mutters, feeling his way blindly to the kitchen, “it’s a goddamn retreat Abby.”

“You said-”

“ _Yes, I_ _said your choice_ ,” Marcus cuts her off, “I thought you’d choose Bali,” he bends down feeling the cabinets underneath the sink, “or I don’t know, some beach in Mexico.”

“You’re just mad I didn’t say Italy,” Abby hisses, her arms curling more firmly around herself.

Marcus’s hands scrape against wood shavings, and he knocks over a febreeze bottle, until he touches something that feels vaguely like a flashlight. He pulls it from the darkness, and clicks on the switch, illuminating the room.

“I could have saved you the solo trip,” he counters, taking a glance at her, “and we could’ve talked to Clarke _together_.”

“It’s too early to talk to any of them,” Abby reaches over to grab the flashlight from his hand, “I already explained this.”

She doesn’t wait for him to follow her, knowing he will once she turns to find the bathroom. There was one, and it was connected to the only bedroom in the cabin. They had nothing. It was the rules of the land to leave your phone at the main house. So, they had approximately _zero_ things except the clothes on their back.

They had left the party, called _Aetheris_ , and booked a flight all on the way to the airport. Together they were efficient as hell. Often leaving others wondering how successful a company would be if they were both the leaders. However, at the moment, they were bickering. Because that was something they did better with each other, than with anyone else.

Abby placed the flashlight down on the bathroom counter, and finally turned to Marcus. Just as she assumed, he was leaning against the doorway. His toes tested the brown tile of the bathroom floor, but he never crossed the threshold.

“Do you really think Octavia hasn’t texted Clarke and Bellamy yet?” he asks her.

“Yes,” Abby argues, “because we asked her not to.”

“Oh my god,” Marcus groans, his eyes fluttering closed and his shoulders drooping dramatically, “really, Abby? Really?”

“What!” she bends down to peel off her soaked wet heels, “What, Marcus?!”

“Octavia has probably texted everyone in the whole world by now!”

Abby steps out of her last shoe, and stares up at him from her bare feet. His hair is slicked back over his head from the rain. His own suit clinging uncomfortably to every muscle and bone in his body. Yet, he stands in the doorway, not making a move into her space.

“I know okay,” Abby sighs as she turns around, giving him her back, “Now, can you please unzip me?”

The space between them suddenly fills with deep tension. There is nothing between them but air, but _that_ air seems immovable. Marcus watches as she stands incredibly still. Her hands patiently waiting at her sides and her head slightly bowed to look at the floor.

The sharp circular light on the ceiling does little to hide his distress. He stands observing her with a held breath. The dress was stuck slickly on her skin, Marcus could tell that was absolute truth. Her hair had turned a little frizzy, and she moved it to the side of her neck to fall down her right shoulder. Abby’s head turns slightly to her left, and she catches his gaze in the mirror.

“Marcus,” she whispers, and it’s not a question, it’s an acknowledgment of his hesitance.

His eyes roam over the sharp shape of her jaw and the way her lips pout slightly, patiently waiting for him to approach her. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to, because in what world would he ever turn down undressing the woman before him. It, however, happens to dawn on Marcus exactly what had happened in the past eight hours.

 _I was going to take that woman to a hotel_ , he cries in his head. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ _You fell right back to old habits_. _You fell right back_.

Abby watches as his hand roams over his face, and it crumbles underneath his palm. Before she can turn, he has made his way hastily out of the doorway. He makes it as far as the opposite end of the bedroom until a strong grip overtakes his left forearm. Her hands cut his circulation through the thick fabric of his suit.

Marcus’s head bows as he whispers, “What was I thinking?”

“Marcus-”

“In that elevator …” he pulls his arm away from her hold, “what was I thinking? What was I doing?”

Abby watches quietly as he unravels before her.

“You were upset,” Abby murmurs gently. She’s not validating his behavior, just approaching it from how the situation occurred to him.

Marcus stares down at her, his eyes boring deadly into her own, “I was more than upset Abby.”

Abby takes a step forward, “Marcus that wasn’t you,” she tells him firmly, “just like me going into that God forsaken club wasn’t me.”

Marcus’s head falls into his hands, “But _it was_ ,” he croaks, “it was _us._ ”

“No it wasn’t,” Abby voice is sharp, “I am not _me_ without you.”

Marcus can hear her voice crack, and he lifts face from his palms. Her expression is strong, chin lifted, but her eyes are gentle, empathetic.

Marcus smiles sadly, “You don’t need me Abby,” his gaze falls as he shakes his head side to side.

“That’s not what I said,” she whispers, taking another step forward, “Without you … yes I could wake up everyday. Yes, I could continue trying to live my life. In that sense, no, I don’t need you. But I am not _me_ without you.” She pauses to lift a hand to his cheek, “And neither are you.”

They stand still, the roll of thunder reminding them of the storm outside. Marcus mimics her movement, closing the space between them.

“You’re right,” he whispers.

Abby lifts onto her tiptoes, “Always am,” she retorts quietly, before their lips meet.

Abby’s fingers slip under the thick fabric of his suit jacket. She slowly moves the dense garment off his shoulders, as Marcus pulls at the ends of his sleeves, letting the heavy object fall to the floor. He feels her delicately pull at his tucked in dress shirt, his hands twisting in the tendrils of damp golden hair. Her lips are cold, and every time he caresses them with his own they get warmer.

One by one, Abby plucks the buttons of his shirt open until her hands find the planes of his stomach only separated by the white undershirt, now see through, stuck against his skin. She strips him of his dress shirt, tugging roughly when the sleeves hold at his wrists. The linen garment is soundless as it hits the floor.

Marcus lifts his arms above his head, bending his knees a little so Abby can pull off the suffocating undershirt. Finally, the pads of her fingers roam over his bare chest and she immediately notes that it’s easier to find the bones of his rib cage. He’s lost some cushion in his abdomen, and Abby knows his diet during their time apart has had this effect on him. But the heat from his body, the thump of his heart against her palms, is still there. Still beats the same.

“I … lost my appetite,” he suddenly whispers, “save the whiskey.”

Abby looks up at him, her nails subconsciously digging into his tender skin. She wants to be angry at him, for treating his body like this. But the strong muscles she’s accumulated over the months tell her she’s not being fair. So she nods wordlessly, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him into another kiss.

Then, Marcus leans down hooking his palms under her thighs to hoist her up. He can feel the smooth skin against his sides, her ankles not quite interlocking behind his back. But he doesn’t need to stop and adjust her on his waist because Abby’s legs hold her up just fine alone. His fingers dance from one calf up to her thighs, and he feels the toned muscles clench around his wide hips.

“Abby,” Marcus murmurs as he leads them back to the bathroom, “don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re … toned.”

This time it’s her turn to ask for silent acceptance as she presses his hands harder into her skin. And he does so quickly, lifting her dress higher and higher. Marcus stumbles at the doorway of the bathroom, and presses Abby against the thin column. The wooden molding digs into her spine, and a leg slips from his waist, gliding down until her foot touches the chilled bathroom tile.

Within seconds she’s turned against the archway, half her body in sight of the mirror before them. She feels his fingers first, as they glide up her bare ass and pull the dress back down to its original position. Abby’s temperament gets the better of her, and she turns to give him lip. But Marcus grips her hands within his and holds them hard above her head, pushing them into the dark wood. His groin digs into her lower back and she looks up to find his dark expression piercing into her own reflection.

His eyes fall as he holds both her palms with one hand, and slowly he begins to slide down the zipper of her dress with the other. Abby watches as he takes every exposed portion of her back like he’s never seen her nude before. And it’s almost like he hasn't. Her shoulder blades are angular, the dip of her waist slimmer, and the ridges of her spine far more embossed than he remembered.

“Don’t move,” he tells her softly, and she feels his hand leave hers.

Abby holds herself up, her elbows piercing the hard surface, her palms languidly holding onto each other. She feels his fingers skim her side before he holds the ends of her dress in his hands and begins to lift it up. All she has to do is disconnect her interlaced fingers and her dress is discarded into the pitchblack bedroom beside them.

His hands start at the base of her neck, massaging into the small bones of her shoulders. Slowly but firmly they makes there way down her sides. His thumbs dig into the muscles of her back, and then the underside of her butt. Abby feels her legs weaken when he kneads the tension in her calves.

When it becomes too much she turns before he can stop her. And it doesn’t earn her much disapproval. All he says is, “And when did you ever listen to me?”

Abby smirks down at him, as he watches her from bent knees. Glacially, he begins kissing up her body. Marcus’s hands noticeably stall at the elastic of her nude underwear. His thumb presses gently into where he knows the thin flower tattoo is hiding beneath the sheer fabric.

He doesn’t look up at her when he begins pulling it down her legs. She tiptoes out of them, kicking them off to the side. Then his lips are on the beloved mark, missing it more than any other part of her body. Marcus’s eyes are closed as he leaves feather like kisses on the petals. His hands holding her hips gently in place, as Abby’s fingers dive into his head of hair.

A groan of protest leaves her mouth as he raises himself back to full height. Abby watches as he leans down to kiss her forehead, cradling her head with his soft palm. Her ears don’t deceive her when he stands frozen for a few long seconds, his lips grazing her hairline, his breath shallow, and he whispers, “You’re here.”

They allow themselves a moment of stillness, although a crack of thunder bellows in the distance and the room illuminates briefly with a bright flash of lighting. Abby nods wordlessly against him, the tip of her nose rubbing the soft hair at his chin. She lifts on her toes, capturing his mouth gently, savoring the mix of mint and salt that she missed so badly.

His hands slide down her back, easily unclasping her bra. It slips off her shoulders and joins the unwanted clothes somewhere in the dark. Together they remove the last of what Marcus wears below his hips.

Another flash of lightning, and they share a look. His hand intertwines with hers. A firm hold, as he leads them to the shower. He opens the glass door, turns the knob, and the sound of rushing water fills the room. In mere seconds the steam gathers around them and they step on the warm tile together.

The water runs down their bodies from an overhead waterfall spout, and it feels like the rain in April. Not like the thunderstorm outside these thick walls. It washes away their sore muscles from being tense for five long months. It washes away the smell of alcohol. It washes away every forgotten tear and fleeting moment of weakness.

It revives hope.

Abby is the first to pump the artisan shower gel from it’s casing on the shower walls. The smell of rose and hints of citrus expands as she works the product in her hands. She spreads the gel over his chest, across his shoulders, down his arms, and onto his back. He returns the favor, and the cycle continues with the shampoo and conditioner.

Their bodies feel clean and stimulated from the natural oils that were infused in the gels. Abby takes a look at Marcus’s relaxed face, almost euphoric. His broad shoulders practically falling to the floor.

“A little more worth it now?” Abby chuckled, reaching behind him to turn off the shower.

Marcus can’t even open his eyes to answer her. A small peaceful smile spreads across his lips, “Shutup.”

Before she can laugh, he reaches for her waist. His fingers slipping on the smooth curve of her spine. Abby pushes his wet hair away from his face as they kiss languidly. She doesn’t want it to stop, but the chill of the bathroom surrounds them, and they’re forced to dry up.

The towels don’t make it passed the bathroom. A few tripped feet over they collapse on the soft cushioned bed. Abby practically drowns in fluffed up white blankets, and Marcus feels support for his knees.

“You’re fucking kidding me with this bed,” he growls as she hooks a leg around his back bringing him down to her.

“Worth,” Abby starts as she kisses up the column of his neck, “it.”

Marcus rolls his eyes in annoyance, but then stops to reach for a pillow further up the bed and grabs a fist full of plush covered feathers and positions it behind Abby’s head. She watches as he combs the tangles of her hair, until she relaxes her neck back against the pillow. He pushes every rogue strand away from her face, in no rush.

It wasn’t enough to say that the way he fell back into place above her, felt like coming home. His weight shifted to his right arm, and his left thumb traced the bones of her cheeks, memorizing her.

Feeling his body against her own didn’t provoke a sense of gratefulness to finally have him in her arms again. It didn’t invite a sense of deja vu or induce a large exhale of relief. When Marcus whispered, “ _You_ make it worth it,” and lifted her hips higher, to nuzzle his waist, and caress the skin of her sides, Abby felt like a Sunday evening.

The feeling when you wind down and appreciate the entirety of another week on this world. She felt like a cool Saturday morning, wrapped in blankets, watching soapy television. She felt like a Wednesday afternoon, having lunch with the sun shining in through the right places of the windows. To have him hold her, felt like every moment you had to stop and realize this comfort of life was how you wished it would be all the time. Where you appreciated the beauty and simplicity of it all, even if you understood life was a terribly balanced thing.

When he looked down at her, she could see he was thinking the same thing. And perhaps he had been thinking it everytime he did this. Everytime his fingers skimmed up and down her body and he kissed every freckle on her shoulder, maybe he was thinking she felt like kismet. His destiny in the form of a woman he loved. A knowing feeling. His Sunday morning, Friday night, and Tuesday turn around.

And maybe that’s what it felt like to be so horribly in love that you couldn’t distinguish where it started and where it stopped. Where the person you loved evoked a feeling so similar to the breath of life, that maybe you began to think they were the reason for it.

But here’s the caveat of love; it never takes the same shape as it has before. That’s why Abby felt a love different than Jake. That’s why when Abby deftly told Marcus, “You need to _believe_ that you’re enough for me,” in a broken whisper disrupting the silence of her darkened room the night he called her pissed drunk, that she knew love had changed shape again. That’s why when they washed off the dirt and weight of their past, love changed shape again.

It was stronger as it pulled them closer together. It was more sensitive as it made them shiver with each touch. It had more passion as each soft touch grew in pressure. It was vulnerable as they told one another just how sad it felt to be alone and how much they missed the sound of eachothers voice.

Marcus cradled her body tight, as he rocked against her. His muscles growing weak simultaneous as they grew stimulated with every push and pull. Abby’s thighs shook around him, clinging onto the feeling of his wide waist between her legs. A thin sheet of sweat accumulating over them, making them work more on gripping each others skin.

Abby felt the feverish temperature of Marcus’s forehead against the crook of her neck. He hooked an arm under the knee of her left leg, pushing her limits further. Abby cursed before pulling her bottom lip treacherously between her teeth. It felt good to have him like this, but she couldn’t …

“Let go,” Marcus murmured softly into her ear, “let go love,” he repeated.

Abby shakes her head side to side defiantly, gripping his ass under her palm prompting him to continue harder. Marcus doesn’t give in to her peer-pressure, kissing softly at the spot below her ear. Isolating his movements, his hips rolling languidly against hers, frustrating her to no end.

Sounds of whines and moans mix together as they flow from Abby’s throat. She’d been wound up and ready for minutes now, and Marcus wants to see it. To see her unfold.

“Let go Abby,” he tells her again, flattening his tongue against the column of her neck.

She refuses, pushing her hips up, stalling his breath and moving against him from her spot underneath his body. Her eyes are shut tight, and he knows she’s holding out for him.

“You don’t have to be strong here,” he lets her left leg fall back into a more comfortable position, pushing himself up on his hands on either side of her body. His thrusts are deep and tempered. Marcus looks down at her swollen bottom lip from her own viscous doings. Her hands grope his back wanting to hold him against her chest, so she doesn’t have to open her eyes and see him looking down at her, telling her once again, “you don’t have to be strong anymore.”

Abby’s eyes suddenly flash open, and in the mix of lust and longing, he finds treckles of pain.

“ _Yes I do_ ,” she attempts to sound steady, but her words rasp against her throat. Her hands find his chest, and her fingers push deep into his skin. Abby’s eyes shut tightly in an unexpected nervousness, as she finds it harder to say what’s been rambling in her head out loud, “I am strong enough for the both of us. I always have been. I always will be until you realize _you_ _don’t need me_ to show you the way out of the dark, Marcus.”

“Abby-”

“Until we walk together,” Abby whispers her lips trembling, “I have to be strong for you.”

Marcus watches as one tear slides down the side of her right cheek, and she tries in vain to keep her chest from shuddering beneath him. Marcus leans down on his elbows, holding her face gently in his left hand.

“Look at me,” he begs her, as his thumb brushes over her lips.

He feels a shaky breath leave her mouth and Abby opens her eyes.

“ _I see you_ ,” Marcus murmurs, “and I’m asking you to let go.”

“Marcus-” Abby croaks.

“Stop it,” he tells her, “stop breathing for me.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers, “you know I can’t.”

Abby holds his face in between both her palms, their noses brush and their lungs inhale and exhale together. The emotions running through their veins are overwhelming. All it takes is one weak pull, and Marcus finds Abby’s lips with his own.

They begin again, with all intentions of finishing _together_.

* * *

 

Abby’s eyes are the first to open the next morning, and she hates to admit that a soreness has built up in several different parts of her body overnight. But the discomfort subsides as she feels his heavy arm over her waist curling her further against him. The sun streams in through the sheer white curtains, but that’s not what keeps her warm. Unlike every morning for the past few months, she smiles.

Marcus can feel her tense from waking up, and then once conscious, she immediately presses back against him comfortably. He finds it cute that she thinks he hasn’t been awake for the last half hour. He was awake to watch the room turn from a dark shade of blue, to a purple haze, and finish covering them in a washed out yellow tint.

In any light, he watched as strands of her hair glinted when the sun moved and made shadows on them. He watched as her breath, shallow and calm, hitched every time the air turned on and chilled her skin. It was then he would hold her closer, pulling the sheets over them more tightly.

“Stop analyzing me,” she murmured, her feet digging into his shins for warmth.

Marcus leaned forward, burying his nose in her mess of hair, “I prefer appreciating.”

“Mm,” Abby hums pulling his arm tighter around her frame.

The heat of their bare skin against each other making it undesirable to move a centimeter. Abby’s eyes roam over the bedroom, and for the first time she’s allowed to _see_ it. The walls are a light peach, the windows on one side large, no television in sight, and matching dark wood furniture. It’s fairly small, but they didn’t need the extra space.

Abby traces lines up and down his forearms, and tries not to let the weight of their entire situation get the better of her. As it did last night in the place she didn’t think it’d come through.

“So what are we going to do?” Abby asks softly, her eyes mindlessly finding a spot of green outside the window and focusing in on it.

Marcus inhales slowly, “Today? Or…”

Abby can’t help but chuckle under her breath, “Sure, today, we can start with that.”

He moves his elbow to raise his head onto his palm, looking down at her from a different angle.

“I think we can start by finding an elderly stretching class because _I am tight_ ,” he jokes, pointing his toes out. A throaty laugh erupts from Abby, and he thinks hearing _that_ before him is definitely the perfect place to start.

Suddenly the phone in their bedroom rings and Marcus groans rolling on his back, “Of course.”

“Well atleast the power is working,” Abby tells him.

He reaches over to the nightstand on his side and lifts the wireless black house phone to his ear, “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Kane!”

A cheery voice echoes into his ear so loud he has to pull it away while he physically cringes at the disturbance to his abnormally peaceful morning. It’s not until Abby awkwardly pulls at the sheets to cover her nude body, that he realizes she just heard that greeting as well.

Did he forget to mention that in order to book this place as quickly and easily as possible, they were technically husband and wife on file? The answer was yes, he did forget to mention it. But that was intentional.

“Morning,” he replies cooly, turning the levels of the volume down.

“The packages of your clothing have arrived and are currently en route to your house,” they tell him, and it’d honestly slipped his mind that they spent almost an hour on the plane ordering overnight clothes to be delivered to them. An invention he was grateful for in the twenty-first century.

“Perfect,” he smiled.

“It was also noted that you arrived to _Aetheris_ at a peculiar hour of the night. So I’ll just go ahead and give you the quick rundown of how things work around here. I find it might be useful to place me on speaker so both you and your wife can listen together, and ask questions of inquiry should they arise.”

“I, sure-” Marcus struggled with finding the speaker button on the phone, “one second,” he said as he placed the phone between both him and Abby giving up. She easily clicked a megaphone button activating speaker mode, with a mocking smile on her lips.

“Can you hear me?” the cheery voice asked, ripping through the quiet room.

“Loud and clear,” Marcus coughed.

“Yup most definitely,” Abby said after.

“Awesome! Good morning to you Mrs. Kane!”

Abby’s eyes shut, and she purses her lips out in thought. Marcus fears what will happen next, and he feels like every breath he takes might make her explode. That’s what he’s waiting for, her inevitable eruption.

“Good morning,” Abby replies at last, her eyes finding Marcus’s and he lets a toothy grin slip when she shrugs at him. Almost saying, _what’s the worst that could happen if I agree?_

“We hope the both of you had a good night's rest. Your house is labeled as one of those affected by the storm last night. We apologize for that long power outage. To make up for this extreme inconvenience, along with the packages on their way you will also receive a basket with different artisanal treats, and your flight home will be on us.”

Marcus’s eyes widen, and Abby pushes back one of his shoulders playfully mouthing, _worth it_. To which Marcus replies back soundlessly, _what the fuck._

However, aloud he says, “Thank you for that.”

“Our pleasure! Now, you’ll find a house phone in the kitchen, your bedroom, and outside on the small patio. There is only one television in your cabin, and that can be found in the living room. The kitchen is stocked with different fruits and foods, should you be inclined to stay in your home for breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner -- of which we provide in the main house every day.”

Abby reaches out for Marcus’s hand and begins tracing the lines of his palm as they continue listening together.

“As I’m sure you know, we provide a number of different activities throughout the day to participate voluntarily. Use your best judgment for what you choose to engage in. For example, if you’ve never hiked in your life, don’t sign up for the advanced class. You’ve nothing to prove or be embarrassed about with us.”

Abby mouths, _I’m not hiking up a mountain, don’t even_.

Marcus replies, _It was one time._

Abby argues _, I almost died!_

Marcus rolls his eyes, _You’re exaggerating._

She waves her hand annoyingly at him and they revert their attention to the human on the other end of the line.

“There is one tablet placed on the bar of the kitchen, it is connected to our system. Through this tablet you can sign up for any activity you wish to participate in. We recommend signing up as early as possible, as each group is small and seats fill up fast. There is no need to make reservations for dining experiences. We always have enough room to accommodate our guests. Typically once you are near the center of the campgrounds it’s easy to walk to each building for the different activities. However, through the tablet you may place a ride for someone to pick you up.”

“So tablet does all?” Abby inquires.

“Basically,” the voice affirms, “it’s very easy to navigate but if you have any issues please don’t hesitate to call the front desk.”

“Sounds great,” Marcus tells her.

“Your packages should be arriving in a few seconds, so I’ll wrap this up. Here at _Aetheris_ we are aware that our guests are here for various reasons. We remind all guests to keep this in mind as well. Ultimately, this place is made to be a rejuvenating experience, to cleanse the heart and mind, and to help you leave more peaceful than you arrived.”

At this point Marcus can’t help himself, “So, a retreat?”

Abby grabs the nearest pillow and tosses it at his head, but he swats it away.

“I suppose so Mr. Kane,” the voice laughs, “Is there any questions you have for me before your package arrives?”

“Nope.”

“No.”

“Alright then, have a wonderful stay,” and just as the phone call ends, the doorbell echoes through the cozy house.

“If it’s a drone we’re packing up our shit and leaving, cause this is getting a little weird,” Marcus comments as he pulls a nearby throw blanket around his waist and walks out of the bedroom.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Abby learns there’s not a stretching class. But there is something not too far off.

“A WHAT?” Marcus almost shouts as they round the corner to the elevated outdoor gazebo, near the center of the grounds.

“The stretching class was already filled,” Abby turns to him, “this was the next best thing. It won’t be bad! It’s the beginners one.”

“I don’t do standing or sitting still for copious amounts of time Abby,” Marcus whispers hot on her heels, “you know this.”

“Well that’s why there’s two of us,” Abby counters, “that’s the point. Working out the poses together and all that.”

“Oh we’re using this as a couples exercise.”

“I mean … yes.”

“You know we work well together. What the hell is an acro yoga class going to teach us?”

“Is this how it’s going to be the entire time?” she suddenly hisses, as she turns to stop one step above him on the stairs. She looks down her nose at him. Marcus catches his breath at her stern tone.

“No,” he shakes his head, looking down at their feet, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” she lifts his chin with her fingers, “Who would you be if you gave in to me all the time?”

He smiles at this, and Abby leans forward to place a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

The group is comprised of about fourteen, of all ages and genders. As they look around for what they’re supposed to do, a cheery young man approaches them tablet in hand.

“Names please,” he smiles, almost so wide Abby thinks he must be wearing petroleum on his teeth.

“Marcus Kane,” Marcus speaks first, but before Abby can introduce herself the young man nods enthusiastically.

“Marcus and Abigail Kane,” he looks up to meet Abby’s eyes, which at most look like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry,” the boy repeats himself, “is that not your name?”

Abby watches as Marcus looks down, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to another. If he had pockets, she was sure his hands would be stuffed in them. A mannerism he would never outgrow.

“No it is,” she cleared her throat, holding her chin a little higher, “I just prefer Abby to Abigail, thank you.”

Marcus lifts his head cautiously, an unhideable blush crawling up his neck.

“No problem,” the _Aetheris_ employee tells her in a comforting voice, “I will put a note in your file to make sure you’re only addressed as Abby.” His fingers tap the tablet a few more times and he looks up at them, “all done! Please take off your shoes, and you all have station seven,” he leans in to whisper, “which is my favorite because you get the best view.”

They’re directed to an open space on the corner of the deck, the soft wooden floor inviting to their bare feet. The instructor is calmer than the employee that helped them earlier, and for that they are a little grateful. Together they follow the rest of the class in a short stretch, and are led into trying one position for the session.

“Just one?” Marcus asks a bit incredulously.

The instructor laughs, “It may be harder than it looks Mr. Kane.”

“I mean, I’m in a squatting position,” Marcus demonstrates as he bends in the knees, “she climbs on my thighs,” he points at Abby who finishes stretching an arm over her head, “we balance each other as we hold hands,” he stretches out his arms towards her, “and she throws her head back for the aesthetic,” he smirks standing back at full height, “three tries max.”

The first attempt fails because Abby’s heel digs into a knot above his knee, and she pushes off him to land on her feet as Marcus falls on his butt.

“You need to put your foot higher on my leg,” he huffs from the ground before pushing himself up.

“Well then bend lower,” Abby quips, her arms crossing in front of her body.

Marcus lowers into a squat once again, and stretches his arms for Abby to hold his hands. He watches as she lifts one foot and places it on the middle of his thigh, looking him in the eye, before they grip each other tighter and she lifts her other foot on his leg. The weight becomes unbalanced, and before they know it, Marcus is on his back and Abby has been flung over him in his fall, once again landing on her feet, barely.

“Third try!” the instructor chuckles as he helps a couple nearby.

Marcus gives a deadpan stare, before Abby stands over him, her palms on her hips. She offers him a hand, to which he takes willingly.

“We almost had it,” he tells her a bit competitively, the same tone from every time they played Trivia Pursuit with the kids, “no one else has gotten it yet so we’re fine.”

Abby watches as he shakes off nerves from his hands, running a hand through his hair, “Marcus we have _time_ ,” she clutches his shoulders under both her hands, “just enjoy the view. I mean have you even looked over the railing?”

Marcus turns slowly to look out into the landscape, his eyes are met with the beauty of a desert. Patches of green amongst the red sand and burnt orange mountains. The sky is soft blue, almost periwinkle. He closes his eyes as a breeze flows through the gazebo, and hears the sound of the wind as it rushes through trees planted nearby.

He turns back to Abby. Her skin glowing, and her dark brown eyes shining with specs of copper in the light. A few of the strands from her ponytail have fallen, framing her face. She had a small smile on her lips from watching him let go and relax.

Marcus pulls her in just as quickly as he had under the city bridge, and kissed her like there wasn’t twelve other people around. Abby finds the comfort of her hands against his chest, as their lips meet again that day. No one bats an eye, and no one stares as they pull away, keeping their foreheads touching for just a moment more.

“I love you,” Abby whispers first.

“I love you too,” Marcus repeats, lifting his chin to kiss the bridge of her nose.

They do get it on the third try, and dance around like teenagers at their accomplishment. But then with fifteen minutes left in the class, they’re given a second position to try.

“Superman?” Abby asks skeptically.

“Yes,” the instructor smiles, “he will be on his back, with his knees pulled into his chest, the bottom of his feet facing you. You will lean over him him until his feet touch your stomach, and together you will launch forward as he stretches his legs up, and your arms go out holding his like you were superman.”

Abby practically dismisses the instructor with her hand, “No _I got that_ , I just … there’s a Supergirl you know? Or they could name it, I don’t know, superhero or something that implies equ-”

“C’mon Abby let’s try it,” Marcus wraps his arms around her torso from behind, pulling her back against him, and spinning her away from the instructor with a blank nervous look on his face.

This time, they bring out a large rectangular mattress for them to try it on.

“Oh so because now I’m lifting _her_ in the air suddenly the safety matters,” Marcus rolls his eyes as he lays down on the black cushion.

On the first try Abby slips off to one side mid journey up, and lands with a thump next to Marcus who tries his best not to chuckle at her frightened face. On the fifth try, Marcus’s feet were placed too wide on her torso, and his right leg slipped off her side. Abby falls with one leg on each side of his waist, and then fully gives up sitting pretzel style on his stomach, even though she’s bobbing up and down because he can’t help but laugh at her frustration.

Finally, on the eighth try they get it, earning an applause from the instructor. He then challenges Abby to let go of Marcus’s hands and balance solely on her own. She makes it a few seconds before both their muscles are shaking, and Abby has fallen on top of him completely.

But this time _they’re both_ trying to find breath from laughter.

* * *

 

Octavia: Hey

Clarke: Hey

Octavia: I know it’s like 6 am where you are, but I have to tell you something

Clarke: Okay, do you want me to call you?

Octavia: No it’s fine

Octavia: They left together

Clarke: Who left together?

Octavia: My dad and Abby

Clarke: How? Where? Why?

Octavia: They ran into each other at a party and then left to a resort

Clarke: A RESORT

Octavia: I KNOW RIGHT WTF

Clarke: Well … that’s good I guess?

Octavia: … I mean I think so

Octavia: Do you still think my dad’s a bad person?

Clarke: No I don’t think that

Octavia: Then you should be happy for them

Clarke: I am happy for them

Clarke: Just surprised

Octavia: Same

Octavia: Bell is on his way home, so I’m gonna tell him

Clarke: Ok

Clarke: Do you know why my mom wouldn’t call and tell me?

Octavia: They were in a rush, my dad just called so I wouldn’t worry about him not getting home

Clarke: Well that’s why

Clarke: My mom’s supposed to visit me in like four days

Octavia: Oh

Clarke: It’s fine

Octavia: Abby wouldn’t bail on you

Clarke: I know ... I really am happy they found each other again

Octavia: Me too

Clarke: Hey …

Octavia: Yeah?

Clarke: I’m sorry Octavia. For what I did. I didn’t want to hurt you, or Marcus, or Bellamy … or my mom. I’m really sorry.

Suddenly, Clarke’s phone screen changes with Octavia’s number on it.

“Hello?” Clarke asks into the microphone.

“I know you’re sorry,” Octavia dives right in, “and I forgive you. I forgave you a while ago. So stop killing yourself over it.”

“You couldn’t have called to tell me that then?” Clarke scolds her lightly.

“You know me,” Octavia states softly.

Clarke smiles, “I missed you kid.”

“I missed you too nerd,” Octavia comments with playful tone.

A peaceful silence follows, as both girls sense a small weight being lifted from both their shoulders.

“My mom lost her job,” Clarke whispers.

“What?!” Octavia practically shouts.

“She technically harassed a patient's father for deciding against a surgery she had proposed to save his daughter's life,” Clarke explains.

“Reese?”

Clarke takes a second before responding, “Yeah, Reese’s father voted no.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Octavia asked hurt, “We talk almost every week.”

“She probably didn’t want you to worry,” Clarke consoled her, “It only happened a few days ago.”

Octavia nodded silently over the phone before asking, “Is she alright?”

“I think she’ll be a bit better now,” Clarke can’t help but comment slyly.

“She’ll tell him right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

* * *

 

Abby sighs deeply, her chest heaving up and down, the hairs on the back of her head sticking to the base of her neck. Her natural waves had frizzed into a mess, and she lifts her head from Marcus’s bare shoulder to look for the hairtie he pulled and threw _somewhere_ only minutes earlier. She feels sweat drip through the valley of her breasts and down her abdomen.

“We are _so gross_ ,” Abby comments, as she spots the hairtie on a nearby decorative pillow.

Marcus lifts his head from the back of the living room couch, his palms slipping up and down her thighs.

“I said you could have the shower first,” he mused, reading her mind and reaching for the hairpiece only a few inches from her fingertips, and handing it to her.

He watched drowsily as Abby pulled her lion's mane into a bun on the top of her head.

“You took off your shirt and sat here with _that look_ , don’t bullshit me,” she climbed off him, both letting a soft groan out as they disconnected.

Marcus stood up, letting his underwear and track shorts slide from his knees down to his feet. He bent down as he kicked his clothes away, and picked up Abby’s yoga pants, underwear wrapped weirdly in one leg but not the other.

“Poor things never stood a chance,” Marcus murmured.

“Don’t touch them! They smell!” Abby squealed as she grabbed her workout clothes from that morning and tossed them where his clothes laid on the floor.

“You smell,” Marcus couldn’t help retorting, but mid-laugh Abby shot her eyebrow up, and he stopped as quickly as possible.

“Well so do you,” Abby scoffed before turning on her heel towards the bathroom in their bedroom.

Marcus watched as her hips swayed side to side, muscles swollen, her skin still shining with perspiration.

“Doesn’t make you any less hot!” he shouts at her, as she turns the corner out of his vision. He listens to the sound of the shower turn on, and then he hears her yell, “Are you coming or not?”

* * *

 

It’s amazing how slow hours feel when it’s not filled the same as a work day. This was the immediate first reaction both Abby and Marcus had as they arrived back to the cabin for the second time that day. Dinner was good, and the sun had just set as the golf cart pulled up to the front of their small home.

Abby stepped out of the cart in her black sandals and faded red sundress, Marcus only a few feet behind her in khaki shorts and a loose white button up. He held her hand as they walked up the porch steps together, and kissed the bare of her shoulder as she slid the key into the lock, allowing the glow of the few lamps they’d left on welcome them back.

Their shoes remained discarded by the entryway, and Abby excused herself to the bathroom. It was all so quiet. The way their bare feet stepped on the cool cement floor. The way Marcus set the agenda on the tablet for the next day. The way the hum of the air soothed their minds.

When Abby emerged from the bathroom, she found an empty living space. But the sound of soft guitar and woman’s smooth melodic voice filled the silence graciously. She made her way to the backyard patio, a small gasp leaving her lips. Small bulb lights lined the railing, a wooden picnic table near the corner had two glasses of wine, and slender speaker that was playing the lullaby.

Marcus set down the tablet and made his way over to her. Before she could object he pulled her in close, holding her hands in his between their bodies, swaying them gently side to side.

Abby lifted her head to look at the night sky, “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, “you can never see the stars like this with Polis so close by.”

“Do you want to see the stars like this every night?” Marcus asked, lifting her hands to kiss the top of her knuckles one by one.

“I mean who wouldn’t,” she sighed.

“We could move to where the stars looked like this every night,” Marcus continued.

“Don’t be ridiculous Marcus,” Abby laughed lightly.

“You’re right,” he mused, “I wouldn’t ask you to leave the children’s hospital. You love working there.”

Abby felt her throat tighten and her grip on his hands tense. She didn’t want to get into that, not now, not when the Earth was this beautiful, and she felt this warm next to him. He didn’t add more, and Abby let her forehead fall to the top of his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asked her.

“Nothing,” Abby was quick to murmur into his skin, “Just hold me.”

Marcus looked down at her, but she left her forehead against him, hiding her face, never stopping their continuous sway. With a small peck to the top of her head, he replied, “Okay.”

 

_Hundida yo estaba_

_Ahogada en soledad_

_Mi corazón lloraba de un vacío total_

_Todo lo intenté_

_Por dondequiera te busqué_

_Eras tú mi necesidad_

 

They swayed like that for a while, listening to the song build around them.

 

_Triste y desolada_

_Ya no pude soportar_

_Más desesperada era imposible de estar_

_Todo lo intenté_

_Por dondequiera te busqué_

_Eras tú mi necesidad_

 

“What is she saying?” Abby asks, turning her head to lay her bare cheek on his heart, listening to the calm beat against her ear drum. Her hands parted from his, sliding over his hips, to hold him further in her arms. Marcus hugged her back, gently running his fingers through the waves of her hair.

“Mmm this one’s a bit harder to explain,” he answered her as slow smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Sounds like a love song,” Abby mumbled into his chest.

 

_Alcé mi rostro y..._

_Llegaste tú y todo cambió_

_Llegaste tú, la esperanza triunfó_

_Llegaste tú, volví a nacer_

 

“Well … yes,” Marcus tilted his head side to side.

“A _sad_ love song,” Abby continued, earning a small laugh from him, feeling it rumble against her cheek.

 

_Por tanto tiempo quise encontrar la solución_

_A ese gran vacío que llevaba en mi interior_

_Oh, todo lo intenté_

_Por dondequiera te busqué_

_Eras tú mi necesidad_

 

Marcus cradled the back of her neck, feeling the soft tendrils of hair against his hand, smelling the scent of rose lift from her skin.

“The person in the song was lost,” Marcus begins to explain in a hushed voice, “alone and looking for someone to fill the emptiness inside them. They searched for a long time, feeling like they’d never find it … find them.”

“But,” Abby lifts her face to find him staring off into the scenery, “there has to be a but.”

Marcus turns back to her, finding her gaze in the dim lighting, “But one day that _someone_ arrived and everything changed.”

“Sounds familiar,” Abby teases.

“And in the end, the singer states that … hope triumphed.”

Abby opens her mouth to say something immediately, but shuts it as if she’s contemplating the thought in her head, then she opens it once more to say, “Well isn’t that everything we have? In this life, I mean … hope is everything.”

Marcus leans down to brush their noses, “Or love?”

Her mouth turns up into a bright contagious smile that Marcus catches immediately.

“Yeah, that too,” Abby tells him before pulling him down to kiss her.

* * *

 

The next morning greeted them with some of the best Belgian waffles and chocolate lattes to enjoy for breakfast. But this time Marcus didn’t order them a ride home, and he hadn’t told Abby what their activity that day would be. Instead, he checked his watch … quite often … until they finished their meal.

At fifteen until ten that morning, Marcus lifted himself out of his seat, nervously wiping his palms against his pants. Abby studied him, slowly getting out of her own chair. She’d just about had it with his weird behavior before an _Aetheris_ worker approached them with a serene voice.

“How was breakfast?” the young woman asked.

“Really good.”

“Great.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she smiled, “my name’s Ava and I’m here to show you to the private couple session.”

Abby doesn’t hide the curious look on her face, when her chin whips almost violently to look at Marcus. He keeps his gaze steady on the lady in front of them, already walking towards their destination. Abby thought there were two things “private couple session” meant. But as Marcus took her hand and nudged them to start following Ava, Abby really wasn’t sure which one she was in for.

“What are we doing?” Abby whispers, her lips barely moving.

“I signed us up for a session,” Marcus breathed shallowly.

“Yes, what kind of session,” Abby gripped his hand in hers harder.

They turned a corner off the main hall of the _Aetheris_ center building.

“A counseling session,” Marcus states firmly, raising his chest a little to alleviate his confidence.

Abby halts the steps that move her forward, pulling Marcus to stop with her. She watches as Ava takes another turn down the hallway, oblivious to the loss of the couple. The hallway suddenly elongates is Abby’s mind. The lights feel brighter, and the scent of cinnamon now overwhelmed her.

“I don’t want to use a day _here_ for that,” she tells him honestly, “we can do that when we get home.”

“Abby,” Marcus starts calmly.

“No,” Abby tells him again, “we can do something else.”

Marcus holds both her hands in his, before lifting her chin up to look at him, “You’re the one who said we can’t just fall back into how things were, that we needed to _talk_.”

“God damn it,” Abby groans her head falling just the slightest.

“I don’t want to do _this_ wrong,” Marcus confesses to her. Abby watches as he struggles to find words. He purses out his lips and closes his eyes for a second longer than usual. When he opens them his statement is soft and scared, “I want to marry you. I want to be your husband so bad,” his voice cracks, “and that … that can’t happen unless we talk through all of this.”

Abby’s head tilts to the side, hearing all he has to say, the vulnerability in his voice burning her gut, “But if we talk alone,” he continues, “we’ll have the opportunity to withhold truths, or hide in bathrooms, or tell ourselves we can always tell each other next time. I just want to walk through this with you, the right way.”

The hallway is still when Abby lifts her hand to the plain of his chest, his heart beating beneath it. She’s not ready to listen to what could be the painful truth of Marcus’s decisions. However, she knows that he isn’t at all ready either. But, he’s doing this for her -- for them. Abby wants to run in the opposite direction as much as she wants to talk through their reunion. It was a good thing, and a brave thing for him to do, this much she knew to be true.

“Okay,” Abby answered him.

But Abby would never truly be ready for what exactly the session entailed.

* * *

 

The couch was long. Abby expected this was because usually each person sat at the far end of it. So when Marcus plopped down on the left side, Abby curling into him, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, they left almost a whole cushion and a half empty.

The room was decorated in warm tones. Brown leather seating, gold lampshades, shelves filled with books, a rose quartz salt lamp, and not one motivational poster in sight. Just as Marcus was about to say something the door opened, and in walked a very young lady. Abby tried not to let her pre-judgements get the better of her, but she had to be maybe twenty-six. _Well you were pregnant with Clarke so can really say anything Abby_ , she scolded herself.

“Good morning,” the young woman greeted them calmly, as she grabbed a journal from her desk and sat down on the sofa in front of them. She was wearing dark denim straight legged jeans, high-waisted, reminding Abby of all the pants she used to own … also at that age. She had a ruffled white top, barely tucked into part of her jeans, hair held in place with a butterfly clip, and chic black loafers.

“Usually when I say good morning I get a response,” she commented, a small smile on her face, “don’t worry I won’t take it to heart.”

Marcus’s right hand doesn’t stop rubbing up and down Abby’s shoulder as she curls further into him.

“So,” she started clicking her pen, and lifting her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, “I’ll begin by introducing myself. I’m Dr. Knott. But I prefer going by my first name Evelyn, or Ev, it’s a little easier. However, if you’re like that’s totally weird why would I call you by your first name, and want to call me Dr. Knott, that’s fine too.”

Abby can’t help as a small snort erupts from her throat. Evelyn smiles, barely. Marcus tenses.

“Yes?” Evelyn asks.

“Sorry,” Abby lifts her hands in apology, one leg crosses over her other, “it’s just … wow I forgot how long ago medical school was for me. And this is … strange … to say the least.”

“I see,” Evelyn nods her head, noting something in her journal, “and what do you practice?”

Abby’s jaw locks, and it almost feels like immediate karma to her.

“She’s Chief of Surgery at the children’s hospital back home,” Marcus clears his throat, and Abby clenches her fingers in her palms, ticking at the cuticles of her nails painfully.

Evelyn studies Abby, critically. Observing how she shrinks into herself unknowingly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her own ear.

“Oh wow,” Ev smiles, “that is a powerful position.”

“Mhm,” Abby mumbles, barely looking up from her lap.

“Stressful position too,” Ev comments quickly, looking back at Marcus who has taken notice of Abby’s demeanor. “Where’s home?”

“Excuse me?” Marcus asks trying to answer Dr. Knott’s questions, but also trying to decipher Abby’s stange need to flex and unflex her fingers.

“I heard you say children’s hospital back _home_ ,” Evelyn repeats, “so where’s home exactly?”

“Ton DC,” Abby answers quietly.

“Arkadia,” Marcus answers simultaneously.

They both lift their heads to look at eachother, surprised at the different answers said between them. Dr. Knott scribbles something down, nodding softly.

“I suppose Polis would be the middle ground for both of us,” Marcus responds immediately after they give respective answers.

“Okay,” Evelyn leans back, “So, Marcus,” she tests the name, “it is Marcus right?”

“Yup.”

“Arkadia is home, and … Abby?” Dr. Knott also tries out the name.

“Yes.”

“Ton DC is home?”

“Right,” Abby replies.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Evelyn begins taking a look at her journal before looking up at both adults, “but neither of those has a hospital.”

“Abby’s the Chief at the Polis Children’s Hospital. Our lives have been spread out through all three cities,” Marcus chimes in, letting go of Abby’s shoulder, and moving to lean forward, his elbows on his knees, “I also work in Polis. It’s where we met.”

Abby watches as he plays with his bottom lip, tugging and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes lift to find Dr. Knott, _observing her_. Abby lifts an eyebrow, often making those around her yield from talking or asking questions but Evelyn persists.

“So,” she starts again, “what are your reasons for being here?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking _why_ we’re here? The cause, the root of our intention to put ourselves in this scenario?” Abby asked as she leaned back into the cushion, a little on edge.

The doctor scribbled more in her pad, “We’ll get to the _why_ soon enough, the real _why_. I don’t like to start off my session by asking my patients the explanation; I want to know the purpose. What do you wish to gain? What do you hope to fix? What do you want from yourself? What do you want from each other? What do you _want_?”

Though the words felt aggressive in every aspect as they were being hurled at Abby, her perspective was skewed. She was being defensive, and the doctor had merely raised her voice above a whisper.

Images of Marcus’s face the night she found out about Vera appeared in her mind. Her engagement ring alone in the small glass case. Gibson telling her Reese wouldn’t have the surgery done. Marcus holding that woman, drunk. But at the end, Bellamy … Octavia … Clarke. All smiling around a dinner table.

“Immediate answers?” the doctor asked.

Abby blinked, caught off guard by the interruption of her thoughts. She looked down at Marcus, whose head had fallen into his hands.

In the distance she could hear Evelyn. _Scribble_. _Scratch_. _Draw_.

“I’m afraid there’s a lot that we want,” Marcus mumbled, a brief laugh lingering in the back of his throat.

“I know it’s easy to speak for each other,” Evelyn explained, lifting her chin a little, “but for the purpose of this session, let’s speak in I statements. Only saying what you as an individual believe, feel, and value. If you both say the same thing, no harm done. But as the session grows, let’s practice not using you statements.”

“How long is this session?” Abby inquires.

Evelyn looks at Marcus to answer, however he sits silent.

“I’m sorry,” Abby pushes to get up, “but I really don’t see the point in sharing all our battles with you if we’ll only be here for an hour or so. An hour isn’t going to clean up all that we’ve been through.”

“We won’t solve all the problems Abby,” Dr. Knott responds calmly, “this is to begin untying them. You can always revisit with another counselor when you leave _Aetheris_.”

“Why are you acting like this?” Marcus suddenly interrupts them, his voice hoarse, his head slowly turning to face Abby, “You won’t even try.”

“You didn’t even ask me,” Abby responded dryly, “Marcus I know you think this was a good idea. But it’s not. We should have waited until we got back to Polis.”

Marcus feels his throat tighten, swallowing he softly replies, “Don’t use you statements.”

Abby doesn’t know what takes over her, but the same feeling of being caged in overthrows her usual reactions, “For fucks sake Marcus, you used a you statement before I used one.”

“Marcus tell me what Abby staying for our session means to you,” Evelyn interrupts, letting her pen drop on her journal, simply listening.

There’s a long silence. Abby stills at the edge of the sofa, waiting for him to say anything.

“I want her to stay because this is the only way I can think of not fucking up. Or it was at least. I told her earlier in the hallway that I signed us up for this because I want to marry her. We were engaged, and now we’re not. To me, it means that she’s willing to see me as I was, and how I want to be.”

Abby gently scoots back on the couch, suddenly feeling very embarrassed for her hyper emotions.

“Abby,” Dr. Knott called to her, “tell me why you wish to leave. Which you can if you want, at any time. No one here will stop you.”

Abby breathes in slowly, “I’m afraid.”

Marcus turns to her, eyes a bit wide, “Abby there’s-”

“Hold on a second Marcus,” Evelyn murmurs cooly, before turning to Abby, motioning her to continue.

Abby shuts her eyes, her nose scrunching in, “I’m not Chief of Surgery at the children’s hospital anymore. I got fired … or publicly, I respectfully left the hospital. But anyways, now I no longer hold that position.”

“When did this happen?” Marcus asks her roughly, “How long ago?”

Abby can’t look at him, “It happened a few weeks ago. After I found out they declined Reese’s surgery.”

A numb feeling runs through her body.

“We just reunited a day ago Marcus,” Abby whispered, “I was going to tell you. I mean I had to … soon enough.”

Marcus sits quietly, unmoving, steadily breathing, trying to keep his composure. Dr. Knott, leans back, allowing the couple a few moments of space. Abby gently opens her eyes, boring into his profile. His jaw is clenched, the vein she’s become unmistakingly familiar with pulses wildly in front of her. But he doesn’t turn, he doesn’t speak.

“Will you say something please?” Abby asks him, a soft plea.

Another interval of silence.

“Marcus, it’s not that big of a deal,” Abby tries to reach out and touch him. But he swiftly moves his arm away from her reach.

“You _love_ those kids, Abby,” he shakes his head in frustration, “you love Reese. This is a big fucking deal. The fact that this isn’t occurring to you the way it should, is what’s pissing me off.” Marcus grips the back of his neck with his left palm, “You don’t just lose that position and go abouts your life. You don’t just leave willingly. You deserved to do that surgery.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Abby argues.

“Guys,” Evelyn steps in, “remember-”

“Oh, fuck the I and you statement rules!” Marcus growls, but immediately takes it back, raising his palms up apologetically to Dr. Knott, “Sorry, listen, all I’m saying is that I am hurt this information wasn’t shared with me. Especially because it is the direct effect of Reese’s surgery decision.”

“Well imagine how it felt to be in the dark for _months_ Marcus,” Abby turns the statement on him violently, “the difference between us, is that I would have told you within days! You could’ve been honest! I just want you to be honest!”

They face each other then, wild eyes meet wild eyes.

“ _Now we begin_ ,” Evelyn tells them, lifting her pen once more.

* * *

 

It’s quite impressive just how thoroughly Abby and Marcus are able to walk through the reasons and consequences of their fall out. More outstanding in the fact that they’d talked for four hours with minimal food and water. Marcus had requested the day long session, and although food had been brought to the both of them, and they were allowed to take several breaks, they both powered through without question.

It was when Dr. Knott had to excuse herself to the bathroom, that they sat for the first time alone since they’d arrived that morning.

“How are you feeling?” Marcus murmured, reaching out to hold her hand, “If it’s too much we can always cut it and go. I think we’ve made _significant_ progress.”

“It is a lot,” Abby nodded solemnly, “but it’s working. And everytime we talk … I feel lighter.”

The sides of Marcus’s lips turn up into a little smirk, “Me too.”

Abby scoots closer to him, and brings his hands up to her lips, kissing the ridges of his fingers.

“I think it’s important that you go see your mom Marcus,” Abby tells him honestly, “Just like Evelyn said, it might seem difficult. But the first steps always do.”

Marcus watches strands of her hair fall forward with each brief kiss to his hands, “Will you come with me?”

Abby doesn’t hesitate in shaking her head side to side, “After your first meeting.”

“What if she hates me?” he bows his head.

“She won’t,” Abby whispers, brushing some hair away from his face, “there’s no way.”

Together then, they lean forward, their foreheads brushing. Abby wants nothing more than to go back to the cabin and lay in bed, holding him in her arms, as they drift to sleep. But this is necessary and it’s a little like a crash course. But it’s good.

Dr. Knott walks back in, taking her place in the sofa in front of them.

“Okay,” she begins, and they turn still holding onto each others hands, “What have you decided Marcus?”

Marcus looks at Abby before turning back to Evelyn, “When Abby goes to visit Clarke, I will go visit my mother.”

“Very well then,” Evelyn smiles softly, turning a page in her journal, “now I do want to leave some time to address your personal notes.”

“Notes?” Abby asks curiously.

“Marcus would you like to tell Abby,” Dr. Knott asks politely, “or should I go ahead?”

Marcus clears his throat, “There was a column when I signed us up,” he runs a hand through his hair, “it asked if we had any specific situations or things we wanted to discuss with Dr. Knott.”

Abby nods slowly, “Okay,” she looks back at Evelyn and then to Marcus again, “but I think we pretty much covered everything from your childhood, to Octavia’s childhood, to Vera, so I’m not following where else we could go? Clarke? We already discussed her involvement.”

Marcus finds it difficult to proceed, but just as Evelyn is about to interject, he finds the strength to look at Abby and say, “We die on the same day.”

Abby’s eyes grow wide, and she unwittingly leans away from him. Of all the things she imagined he would care about to discuss with Evelyn, this is not one of them. She feels a little betrayed that he would write about it to begin with. This was something they only said to each other alone, and in moments of impact where it mattered. The very notion of Dr. Knott knowing this made Abby feel exposed far more than the previous hours sitting on the exact same couch.

But Marcus continues as though he’s practiced saying this in front of her a thousand times, “I want to talk about why we say, we die on the same day.”

It’s visible to both Marcus and Dr. Knott, the large gulp that Abby takes. She sits back, crossing her arms in front of her chest, finding a corner in the ceiling to focus her attention on.

“That’s _personal_ ,” Abby tells him, her foot shaking wildly, even if she sits painfully still, “between you and I.”

“And nothing before this has been personal?” Marcus asks her unafraid.

“ _Intimate_ ,” Abby corrects herself, “it’s intimate.”

“Practically synonyms Abby-“

“No, there’s a difference between saying we have sex often and telling her what I whisper in your ear to get you off,” Abby bites, her head whipping to stare him down so fast, she can hear Marcus inhale a sharp breath in hopes of fighting off his innate want to look away from her glowing irises.

“If you don’t like saying it, you should have-” Abby begins.

“It’s not that I don’t like saying it-” Marcus chimes, before he is once again interrupted himself.

“Well then what the fuck is the problem?”

Marcus shuts his mouth from speaking another word. He holds the bridge of his nose between his fingers, breathing in through his nostrils and out his mouth. Abby watches as he looks down the gap between his knees, and he can’t possibly find the artisan rug in Dr. Knotts office _that_ interesting. But he’s given up at looking at her, at trying to voice his rationality.

“Who said it first?” a calm voice cuts through the tension building between the couple with mere inches separating them.

Abby continues looking at Marcus, but he hasn’t lifted his head.

“I did,” Abby answers her a few seconds later.

Evelyn nods, her pen gracing the sheets of her notebook once again.

“Where did you get it from?” Dr. Knott inquires softly.

“My brain?” Abby lifts her eyebrow unashamed of her rising annoyance, “I’m not out here coining popular sayings from romance novels Evelyn. Should I have used _The Notebook_ instead? _Pride and Prejudice_?”

Dr. Knott lets the continual stabs Abby is throwing fly over her shoulder and head. Instead, she keeps a line of direct eye contact with the woman on the couch who hasn’t noticed the way her chest had been heaving up and down, or the crescent marks of her fingernails that she left on her own wrists, or the way she moved her hair behind her ear for the fifth time.

“What does it mean to you?”

“It’s just a thing I said! It’s a thing I said after we had sex for the first time, and it stuck! What do you want me to say!” Abby shouts, and the moment her voice rips through the room Marcus pushes himself off the couch.

His hands wipe furiously at his pants, and Abby causes minimal whiplash on herself as she turns her chin to look up at him. It’s then she notices the red rims around his eyes, and the way he refuses to look down at her. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, facing one of Dr. Knott’s book shelves.

“I’m going to go,” his voice croaks through room.

Abby sits frozen, her eyes flashing between Marcus and Dr. Knott. She hadn’t known he’d been trying to fight back tears, _for what?_ Had she really been that hostile just now?

“Marcus,” Abby whispered, “what’s wrong? Sit down, please.”

“To have you deflect every incoming question?” he smiles bitterly, “Abby, when you don’t want to think about something … _you really don’t want to think about something_. I would know, because I do the same thing. But _that’s why we’re here_.” His voice grows a little stronger, “Did I want to think critically about why I shut my mom out? Why I kept you and Octavia in the dark? No. But I did, and we walked through that.”

Marcus turns to face Abby, and she falls silent at the intensity of his almost black eyes, “But if you don't want to. If you can’t _do that_. Then let’s go. I can’t ask you to handle this exactly as I have. It’s not fair to me, or to you.”

Abby says nothing, and watches as he waits for her to say anything. He stands patiently for almost two minutes, with nothing but the sound of Dr. Knott’s fan filling the space with white noise. When Abby lowers her head, to look at her palms at her lap, she can see from the corner of her eye that he takes that as his answer and walks towards the door.

“I can’t tell you why I said it,” Abby murmurs as his hand hits the knob of the door, “I don’t know where it came from.”

Marcus stops from escaping, yet he doesn’t turn to face Abby just yet.

“But I can tell you that I have thought about what would make me say something like that to begin with,” Abby lifts her head to look at him, finding the muscles of his back strained. She moves her legs to form an S shape on the couch as she tries to face her whole body to him over the back of the couch.

“And when I think about the reason,” Abby continues taking small pauses to gather herself, “I can understand why you would want to talk about it.”

Marcus’s hand falls from its loose grip on the door.

“If I am able to say those words out loud,” Abby croaks, “and believe that some divine entity will take them and listen. Then maybe … the same divinity won’t take you away from me …” Abby’s voice shakes, “like it took Jake.”

Marcus turns then, finding her big brown eyes looking at him with utter and complete vulnerability.

“I can’t do that again,” Abby shakes her head, letting her eyes fall shut, “I’m not that strong.”

Dr. Knott watches as Marcus walks briskly back to the couch, taking Abby’s head in the palms of his hands. She had never felt awkward in a session, but in this moment Evelyn felt like she should not be allowed to witness the intimacy of a forehead touch only a few feet in front of her. The way Abby’s body fell limp into his arms the moment he touched her, was something she would never forget.

“I love you,” Abby told him, holding his wrists in her hands, “I love you with everything I have,” she cries into his palms, “and I’m not in the business of fate … you know that …” Abby tells him, opening her eyes as tears run freely from them, “but there is power and importance in the unsaid.”

Dr. Knott tries her best not to get emotional at Abby’s profession, focusing on the impressive fact that Abby has certain knowledge of psychology. Abby tilts her head to look at Evelyn, insinuating that she should explain to Marcus exactly what that meant. As if being called back from space Evelyn nods rapidly.

“What Abby means is that we often don’t say things we inherently crave and think, out loud. Things like ‘I want to be loved,’ ‘trusted’, and ‘valued.’ We instead portray these wants and needs non verbally, or say them in different ways, never explicitly. But when said out loud, they hold substantial power.”

Marcus nods, and Abby moves to be held as they both turn towards Dr. Knott, finding the same position they had earlier that morning.

“It also leaves room to use future-based language,” Evelyn continues, “Some people think of this like putting a statement in the universe, saying it out loud, thus making it real, _concrete_. Which in my professional opinion is where I think Abby got this saying from.”

Abby nods slowly, feeling Marcus’s chin at the top of her head.

“It’s her way of saying she doesn’t want to live in a life without you.”

“Exactly,” Abby whispers.

“But,” Evelyn murmurs, “it’s shaped in a way where you are reminded of not only death, but the death of someone who meant a great deal to you Abby. The intentions of your statement were exactly where you wanted them. But maybe if you and Marcus can craft a future-based statement that sets you up for appreciating life, rather than running from death?”

Marcus and Abby take Dr. Knott’s recommendation seriously. It wasn’t meant to belittle their previous professions of love and fear of loss. It was simply to place them in a position better than which they started.

Glacially Marcus turns his attention to Abby. She feels his breath stop momentarily, before he tells her, “We walk … together.”

Abby takes a second to let the words sink in, remembering their usage the night they reconciled. Marcus feels her hand lift to cup his cheek before she repeats, “We walk together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Mentioned: Llegaste Tú - Jesse & Joy


	22. Stained Glass

* * *

Dear Dr. Griffin,

It has come to our attention that you have respectfully resigned from your position at the Polis Children’s Hospital. We hope your future endeavours bring you as much joy and success as your time as Chief of Surgery. If you ever find yourself in the bay area, or feel even the slightest inclination to visit, we will fully compensate your travel expenses to visit us here at The Mountain University.

Your leadership and work ethic is admirable. We are looking to hire a new Director for our Health & Counseling Center, which currently has a team of twenty people, not including student workers. We believe you would be a fantastic fit! Also, should you wish to teach in our natural sciences school, I’m sure the Dean will be more than happy to welcome you aboard.

I must apologize for my audacious manner. However, the position will be made publicly available by the end of next week, and we are in need to fill it as soon as possible. But, we wanted to offer this opportunity to you before all else.

Please email me back with any questions, or notice of your interest. I’m happy to answer and talk at anytime! We truly hope you will consider joining our community here at MU.

Thank You,

Mae Booth

* * *

Abby’s eyes followed to the bottom of the email, only to find that Mae Booth was in fact the President of MU. And that the email had been sent approximately seven days ago. The night of Jaha’s party. Of course.

The flight attendants voice rang throughout the plane, informing everyone to prepare for landing. Abby shut her laptop closed, and stowed it away in her bag. Sighing deeply, before shoving her earphones further into her ear canal and slumping back against the seat. She was able to stretch her legs fully and lowly groan without anyone too close to hear her. That’s because Marcus upgraded her flight without telling her until he dropped her off at the airport almost eleven hours ago.

“What am I gonna do?” She whispered, lifting the window cover, finally feeling better about seeing land and not the vast deep sea.

* * *

Abby followed the signs to baggage claim, and at the bottom of the escalator she was currently traveling down she met the blue eyes of her daughter. Clarke held a small cardboard sign that read, _Mom_ , and after finding Abby among the people she flipped it over to show what else she had written, _I’m sorry._

A sad smile grew on Clarke’s face as Abby mouthed, “Me too.”

And she was. She was sorry for waiting so long to visit. She was sorry it took one too many initial phone calls from Clarke for Abby to answer instead of ignore. She was sorry for still not telling Clarke about Marcus and _Aetheris_.

But the second her feet landed on the solid ground, and she had her daughter within arms length, it all felt so miniscule. Clarke clutched her tighter than Abby had ever felt before, and it felt like the last piece of glue to hold her back together was finally in place.

* * *

Octavia held his hand firmly in hers, as she walked them through the familiar lobby. Everyone knew her by first name, and check-in was speedy because of that. Vera didn’t know Marcus was coming with Octavia today, and he somehow wondered if maybe a warning should have been given. What if she really had nothing to say to him?

He desperately wished he hadn’t dropped off Abby earlier that morning at the airport. All he needed was a quick phone call to be able to hear her voice, and he’d be calm again. It didn’t help that the staff gave him looks of disgust. Because he was in fact _that guy_. The guy who left his mother alone and never visited, and now he wanted to show up?

To say Marcus felt uneasy was an understatement.

“She’s in the garden,” Octavia told him, leading the way outdoors.

Marcus couldn’t help as his mouth turned upwards into a brief smile, “Of course she is.”

His surroundings suddenly felt incredibly out of focus. With each step towards the double doors that led outside, he couldn’t fathom how his knees hadn’t buckled beneath his own weight. Octavia slipped her hand from his and instead gripped him closer by his forearm. The support was well needed, but he also knew his palm was probably sweating profusely. 

The sun was hidden behind multiple layers of cumulus clouds. Flashes of the cerulean sky catching his eye every now and again. It was strange to be walking around the fields of green he’d only seen through pictures, and the one initial tour he took solo, many years ago.

Everything begins to take a structure he can comprehend around him. The colors of pink, red, and white that reach out to him from the tall bushes let him know it’s rose season. He momentarily stops to look at one the deepest shade of crimson, and without knowing he reaches to pick it from its stem.

“Don’t,” Octavia quickly swipes his hand away from the flower, “they have thorns.”

Marcus swallows the lump in his throat, “Right, thanks,” he murmurs before she leads them further into garden.

Octavia turns the final corner, where her grandmother should be seated at the table nearby. Instead she finds Vera with a basket in her hands, a sun hat atop her head, and nice helper from the home with garden gloves and cutters in his hands. Just as the _Eden_ employee snipped a red rose into the basket, Vera turned her head, at first only catching sight of Octavia.

“Oh good! You’re here! Look they’ve let me pick roses for my room,” Vera looks down at the assortment she has in her woven basket, “but I said you’ll have to take some home as well-” when she lifts her head up this time, the father-daughter duo is closer. Vera is met with the eyes of her son, and it feels like he’s not a grown man. Instead she sees the small boy who would pick flowers from their garden to press in his books.

Marcus lets out a long breath, “Hi, mom.”

His arms feel heavy, and they tingle with the product of anxiousness. Vera was smaller now to him. Her face etched with time, but her ever fair skin always pink from her cheeks. Marcus watched as she took her time looking at his face, over his hair, down his clothes, and to his feet. Could she have imagined him standing in front of her before?

Vera set down the basket on the table, and walked over to Marcus. Allowing him less than a second to get comfortable with her proximity before wrapping her arms around her son and bringing him down to her. Octavia watched as her father fell fully into his mothers’ embrace, his face crumpling into her shoulder. Within that moment the past how ever many years of Marcus’s life and decisions, _didn’t matter_.

In the garden of _Eden_ , he felt like every mistake he had made, every selfish decision, every moment that haunted him, was suddenly not as heavy as he thought. In the arms of his mother, he didn’t torture himself. With her soft hands cradling him against her, Marcus realized it wasn’t that he did the best he could with what he had. Instead, it was realizing that he never had nothing, and his greatest demon growing up, was thinking that he did.

* * *

They sat in her room, separating the flowers into _three_ bouquets now.

“Octavia do you mind taking over? I just want to sit down for a bit,” Vera smiled, as she walked over to her bed

“Are you feeling okay?” Octavia asked her, as she continued arranging the colors in each vase. Marcus watches as his mother takes a deep breath, sitting at the edge of her mattress.

“Yes,” Vera answers, “it was just a hot day is all. I am more than okay right now.”

“I’ll go get you some cold water from the dining hall,” Octavia tells her, putting one more flower in the clear vase before walking out of the room.

Marcus plays with a single white rose in his hands, fighting the urge to pick off the petals. The quiet doesn’t bother him or Vera. It reminds them instead of their quaint small house, the radio on, sitting in the same space, but both conquering different tasks. Usually with Marcus, it was homework, or fun reading.

“Maybe if you had a garden,” Vera starts, “you wouldn’t have spent so much money sending Abby flowers.”

Marcus lifts his head, a quizzical eyebrow, “How did you-” he stops mid-sentence, “Octavia,” he confirms.

Vera laughs softly, “We’ve talked about it.”

“Mmm, I’m sure you have,” Marcus shakes his head side to side, his mouth pursed, slightly embarrassed.

“I don’t think you’ve had a girlfriend since …”

“Do not say-”

“Lily from elementary school,” Vera teases.

“We didn’t even know what those words meant,” Marcus chuckles, “I think that was a _crush_ , of which you should not have encouraged by the way. I was heartbroken when she moved.”

Their laughs die down, and Marcus runs a hand through the top of his head.

“I did have another girlfriend before Abby by the way,” he confesses, “well sort of. I saw her on more occasions than one. She worked for me, and it was … convenient.”

Vera let’s him explain, sitting cross legged, waiting patiently.

“But then she found out about you,” his face falls to the ground, “and I wasn’t going to marry her. I wasn’t even going to introduce Octavia and Bellamy to her. But now she had information, that to me, back then made her a threat to the life I had built. So … I found her a job that paid more than her salary at my company. It was a more prestigious position as well. It was quite literally and offer she couldn’t refuse.”

Marcus set the flower down on her table, Vera still silent and he didn’t know how to take that so he continued, “Abby and Octavia know by the way. I have no more secrets. I can’t do that to them anymore.”

“I often wondered if that was the moment that would have let me walk in the sun, and instead I shoved it away,” Marcus whispers, “but a week later we hired Clarke. Shortly after that, I met Abby and that ... ”

“Was fate,” Vera finished his sentence.

“I guess so,” Marcus looked up to face his mother, “or coincidence,” he teased.

Vera rolled her eyes. Even as an older man, he was still her personal devil’s advocate. But Vera believed in fate exactly as she let on. Especially at this moment in time. When she thought she’d never hold him in her arms again. She had been set on asking Octavia to request his audience for their visit next weekend. She’d even planned to write a note to persuade him. However, that morning he was there and that was more than a coincidence.

Vera opens her mouth, gaining her sons attention before she speaks, “Marcus there’s something-”

Then, the door of her rooms swings open, and Octavia walks in, “They had beignets down stairs!”

Marcus turns to find Octavia with a canvas bag, she pulls out three water bottles, and plastic to go box holding the pastries. “Some bakery nearby accidently made extras for a wedding venue down the road, and left like a fifty! It was awesome!”

Marcus doesn’t forget that his mother was speaking before her granddaughter had excitedly waltzed in. Although a large smile has crossed his face in light of Octavia’s happiness, his eyes look back at his mother, silently asking if she wants to continue what she was saying. But instead Vera pushes herself off the bed to sit with them at the small table by her balcony window.

* * *

Five days later Abby and Clarke stood in the open space in front of the Duomo, surrounded by history, and people walking from here to there. Looping their small shopping bags through one arm, and holding a cup of granita in the their hands.

“So are you going to take it?” Clarke asked her.

Abby pushed the cold delight around it’s plastic cup, “It’s across the country.”

“He’ll move with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Clarke suppressed the want to roll her eyes.

“It’s not about Marcus,” Abby stated, “Bellamy is supposed to start at Arkadia U in the fall. Octavia loves her friends … and Lincoln. Marcus is still in charge of his company, and _you_ want to live in Polis.”

Clarke grabs her mothers’ practically empty cup and throws it along with hers in a nearby trash bin.

“Bellamy is _grown_ , so he can find an apartment elsewhere. Octavia doesn’t care about her high school, and can visit Gaia and Luna when she visits Bellamy, because _you know_ _they will_. And Lincoln will be going to college in the fall, wherever he goes, so O’s already preparing for the long distance. Marcus will-”

“I’m not going to ask him to give it all up,” Abby curtly stopped Clarke mid sentence, and shook her head side to side, “he created his whole life there from the ground up. That includes AMS. It means too much to him, even if he won’t admit it.”

“Talk to him about it, at least?” Clarke sighed before tentatively stating, “You shouldn’t assume his answer.”

A part of Abby was surprised at Clarke’s maturity, and another part of her was amazed. It was like her little girl was still in there, but something in her had changed, had grown. Abby nodded accepting her advice while taking Clarke’s hand within her own as they continued their stroll.

“And you?” Abby asked.

“What about me?” Clarke faced her, “I’ve been living in a whole other country by myself for nearly half a year and now you’re gonna worry about me when I’m like five states away? Jesus, mom.” Clarke couldn’t help but laugh at Abby’s false logic.

“I guess I have to keep letting you do your thing,” Abby lightly bumped her shoulder, “But I’ll always be there for anything you need. You know that right?”

“Of course,” Clarke smiled.

They walked in silence, letting the sun soak their skin, and listening to the buzz of different languages speaking all around them.

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?” Clarke suddenly piped up.

Abby turned her head slowly, shocked at her daughters nervousness, “Sure.”

“Remember when you talked about that one little moment. When you and Marcus had your first fight, you told me that with every argument in that one tiny moment you decide whether or not you’ll ever be able to forgive the other person.”

“I remember.”

Clarke’s pace slowed dramatically and her gaze fell to the bricks on the floor, “So … when you found out about Vera, that morning in our house … did that moment happen?”

Abby inhaled deeply, her lips pursing out a little, as she continued looking forward into the road contemplating her answer.

“Yeah,” Abby whispered, “and that’s what scared me. I was so hurt. And I knew I would be hurting for a long time. But I love him. I’m sorry if that’s weird for me to say so bluntly to you.”

Clarke silently shakes her head, telling her mom it’s fine.

“His reasons and my reactions to those reasons are all kinds of complicated. But, Marcus is not an inherently bad guy. He made himself hard and has faced the fallout of those decisions. But I see him. And I love him. And in that tiny moment, he loved me too. Whether it was fate … or time. I’ll never know.”

Then just as they’re about to make their way down the steps to the subway system, Abby’s phone rings. She pulls it from her purse, and stops them in their tracks, “Speaking of Marcus, hold on, let me just answer this. If we go down I’ll lose service.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Clarke tells her as they move away from the entrance at the top of the stairs.

Abby slides the part of her phone that accepts his call, “Hey, it’s three in the morning there … really can’t sleep?”

There’s a silence that grips Abby’s throat when she hears a shaky breath from the other line.

“Marcus what’s wrong?” Abby moves further away from Clarke, wanting to give Marcus privacy and not worry her daughter, but Clarke follows her anyway. The last time she spoke to him, he had said meeting with his mother had gone far better than he could have ever imagined. She could hear the lightness in his voice, the happiness.

“I need you to come home,” Marcus tells her clearly, but before she gets a chance to say anything more, she can hear him let out a broken exhale, “I need you Abby.”

This time she turns to Clarke telling her to stay in place while she moved to a quieter part of the public space. She walks into a small alleyway, watching as powdered sugar drifts around her from the bakery currently receiving it’s supplies.

“Marcus what’s wrong? What happened?” Abby clutches the phone against her ear, her heart beating wildly.

“Her lungs, they’re failing her at a faster rate, and her body’s not healing itself, and-” his words break as he hiccups through his explanation.

Abby stops him, “Okay, okay,” she nods even though he can’t see her, “I’ll catch the next flight with Clarke. We’ll be right there.”

“Clarke knows where _Eden_ is,” Marcus assures her barely, “but I’ll - I’ll take care of the flight, giving you both enough time to pack, and send you the information. Okay?”

And Abby almost wants to smack him, because even in this time of distress for him, he’s still willing to take care of her and Clarke.

“I can manage Marcus,” Abby argues, “don’t worry about us, we’ll be there as soon as possible. I’ll send you the-”

“No,” Marcus tells her sternly, “I just need to feel like I can do something about this okay? I just need to feel like I can control a part of this, like I can help.”

Abby shuts her eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay, I’ll message you the boarding passes,” Marcus answers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Abby tells him, “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Abby and Clarke walk briskly towards baggage claim, and find Octavia waiting for them. No Marcus, and that makes Abby worry further. Octavia’s hair is gathered in a messy braid falling down her right shoulder. She envelopes Abby and then Clarke in a hug just as they get in reach. It didn’t feel like she hadn’t seen Clarke in months, and Abby had always been there. But when Octavia briskly pulled away from the two of them, holding herself up, Abby knew Octavia was trying very hard not to give into the weight of her emotions.

“I can drive,” Clarke offers, “so you can tell us what’s happening without having to concentrate on the road.”

Octavia nods, she didn’t speak a word as they waited for their suitcases to journey around the conveyor belt. Abby watches as Octavia’s phone buzzed and she answered text messages from her brother.

“Bell got in last night,” Octavia murmured, “he’s just making sure I got to the airport alright. He’s with dad and Vera.”

A few minutes later Octavia hands Clarke the keys and makes her way to the back seat. She’s surprised however when Abby opens the door adjacent to hers, and sits behind the passenger seat.

Octavia looks at Abby with wet eyes, “You just got off a cramped plane, you’ll have more room in front.”

Abby shakes her head, “I’m fine here.”

“Well now that’s just weird,” Octavia snarks, but a single tear rolls down her cheek. She turns her head sharply to face the window and wipe the tear before Abby can notice. But Abby already has, and as Clarke begins to drive them quietly to the hotel Marcus set up for them near _Eden_ , Abby reaches for Octavia’s hand.

Clarke’s eyes flicker from the road to her rearview mirror, and she can see Octavia’s face crumple, no longer having the ability to stay strong.

“They said she has maybe two weeks,” Octavia whispers.

Abby tenses, watching as Octavia turns to her, “They could be wrong right? You can tell them if they’re wrong.”

“Octavia,” Abby murmurs, and that’s all she has to say for Octavia to know that Abby couldn’t save the natural effects of her grandmother. That if Abby could, she would have said otherwise. So, Octavia’s face falls in her hands, and Abby unclips her seat belt to pull the girl into her arms.

* * *

After dropping their belonging at the hotel, all three ladies walk into _Eden_ together. But just as Octavia is about to take them up to Vera’s room, Abby tells them to go ahead without her.

“I need a moment,” is all Abby says, and the girls don’t argue, even if they’re curious as to why.

Abby watches as the elevator closes. She feels nauseous, and tries to calm her breath. But without warning she finds the nearest bin and vomits her sad excuse for a breakfast bar and mostly water into the trash.

“Are you alright?” an _Eden_ employee rushes to her side.

Abby nods, as her fingers grip the edge of the trash bin. “I’m sorry,” she says without lifting her face, “where’s your bathroom?”

The young woman helps her find the bathroom, and grabs Abby an unused toothbrush and toothpaste from their supplies. She thanks the woman, and washes her teeth, before walking out.

Abby finds the receptionist that checked them in and says, “I need to see Vera Kane’s medical chart.”

“I’m sorry that’s confidential,” she denies Abby.

“I’m a doctor,” Abby begins in a tired tone, “and I need to make sure that your staff isn’t concluding something that’s wrong. Because if there’s any hope for my fiancé and our family I need to know.”

“I can’t give you her records-”

“Do I need to give you my resume or what?” Abby brushes her hair away from her face, “I’m not some con artist. I have more medical experience than years you’ve been alive. Just give me her _damn_ chart.”

“I understand-”

“No, _you_ don’t understand,” Abby argues. But a figure in a white coat emerges from behind the counter space.

“Print her Vera’s chart,” the older doctor tells the receptionist. He looks up at Abby, his eyes grey, “I’m afraid you’re only hurting yourself by doing this. It’s a pretty standard effect we see in our clients when they get much older.”

Abby hears the printer nearby turn on, and meets the strong gaze of the doctor, “Well if it’s pneumonia there are ways to treat and clear out her lungs.”

“Her body isn’t healing,” the doctor matches her strong will, “she’s known it for a while.”

Abby sets her jaw straight, and grabs the papers from his hand the moment he hands them out. Her eyes roam over every incident, small procedure, and medication logged in by the nurses.

“Cellular senescence,” Abby reaches a conclusion, “her lungs really can’t heal themselves anymore. How many times has she stopped breathing due to saliva in her lungs during the night?” Abby asks although she’s already flipping through the papers counting herself. Vera never noticed it was happening in her sleep. Instead, the first incident was caught by a nurse and then they checked in on her every night.

“She won’t be in pain when it happens,” the other doctor reaches for the papers, as Abby lays them back down on the countertop, her forehead falling into one palm. “Although, you probably know that. Your face looks familiar. Where do you practice?”

Abby lifts her head, “I don’t. Thank you,” she murmurs before turning and making her way to the elevators once more.

* * *

It didn’t hit Abby until she was standing in front of Vera’s room, hand on the doorknob, that she was about to meet Marcus’s mother. Unfortunately, not under the circumstances she would have ever wished to. Abby had seen cases like this on more than one occasion, even with her own parents, but those were quite different circumstances than Marcus’s.

When she pushed the door open, the room was cold … quiet. The television was on but muted. The curtains open, allowing the sun to illuminate everything it touched. Marcus lifted his head from his mothers’ palm, as she lay asleep in bed, no IV, no tubes. His hair tousled and greasy, his eyes tired with dark circles, and his beard ungroomed.

Abby walked over to him, and stood strong as he moved to hold her still sitting, holding his mothers hand. Abby cradled his head against her stomach, running her hands through his hair, soothing him with her soft touch. She saw the kids sharing the long couch opposite of Marcus. Bellamy asleep with his head lulled back, Octavia resting her head on his shoulder, eyes blankly staring at her grandmother, and Clarke holding Octavia’s hands sitting silently.

Abby wanted so badly to air the room from the numb energy. As if reading her mind, Vera shuffled in bed. She turned her head to look down at Marcus’s mother, and instinctively pulled Marcus in closer. Vera was covered in blankets and one quilt, a vase of roses by her night stand, and a few photos Octavia printed for her. Abby’s eyes settled on her own face in one of the photos. Octavia’s birthday dinner.

“You’re here,” Vera smiles up at her, as she moves to sit.

Marcus moves from holding Abby, but Abby doesn’t take any steps from his side, and Marcus leaves his arm to dangle around her legs.

“I-” Abby starts, but finds it hard to continue. Vera’s eyes are identical to Marcus’s, not only in shape and color, but the emotion they are able to hold. Abby swallows, nodding enough for Vera to notice, “It’s nice to meet you.” She feels Marcus’s hand’s run up and down her side, and fights the urge to stop his hands, feeling like they’re sixteen-year-olds in front of their parents.

“Let’s skip all the basic introductions,” Vera laughs quietly, “I’ve heard enough about you to feel like I know you very well.”

“Oh God,” Abby runs a hand embarrassingly over her face.

“How much you know about me doesn’t matter, come here,” Vera motions for Abby to hug her.

As Abby slowly detached herself from Marcus’s loose hold, she tries not to feel his body tense at Vera’s first statement. Abby leans down to hug Vera, and realized she hadn’t hugged a maternal figure in such a long time. She fights falling further into Vera’s warm embrace, and pulls back slowly, a smile on both their faces.

“Marcus,” Vera turns to him, and he moves to her attentively, “why don’t you take the kids for food? They look like they could use some sun.”

“No we’re fine,” Octavia is the first to speak.

“Yeah we’re okay,” Clarke murmurs.

Then, Bellamy snores so loud he wakes himself up in a panic, and the whole room can’t help but laugh.

“You know I don’t like sleeping in public,” he mumbles, before ducking his head on his sisters shoulder, and closing his eyes once more. Not to fall asleep, but just to care for the burning tiredness that runs behind them.

“Bellamy why don’t you take your father and sisters to eat?” Vera asks him, and he peeks one eye open and then the other.

“Mom,” Marcus starts, “we’re fine, they’re fine-”

“Jesus,” Bellamy sighs and pushes himself up from the couch, “everyone,” he begins pulling up Octavia and Clarke, “let’s go. We’ll be back within an hour tops.”

Vera mouths a thank you to him, and looks back at Marcus, “When’s the last time you’ve eaten? Go get food.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Marcus tells her.

“I’ll be here,” Abby responds. Marcus nods kissing his moms hand, too tired and hungry to argue, and stands pulling in Abby for a quick forehead peck before leaving the room with the kids.

Abby takes his place on the chair next to Vera’s bed and when the door shuts closed she speaks, “Smooth. I can be fully interrogated now,” she jokes.

To her pleasure, Vera laughs and then says, “Not my style.”

Vera reaches for the glass of water on her night stand, and Abby hands it to her, watching her hands shake gently as she drinks. Abby feels a heaviness take place on her chest, and tries her best to control her expressions when Vera politely hands her back the glass.

 _For God’s sake,_ Abby thinks, _you are a doctor. You know how to control yourself around these situations._ But Reese flashes through her mind, and she can’t help but think maybe she no longer has the strength to let her heart break each time she couldn’t save someone she cared about.

“Impeccable timing I have, don’t I?” Vera begins, her voice calm, almost melodic.

Abby’s eyes flash to her hands tugging at each others fingers. “It’s good that he’s here,” she murmurs, “he would have never forgiven himself.”

Vera nods, her gaze never leaving Abby’s sunken face, tight jaw.

“He needs to keep moving, Abby,” Vera whispers, “when I’m gone … he can’t continue to relapse on what we’ve been through. At first, I told him there’s nothing to forgive. But then I granted him forgiveness just so he can feel as though it’s real words he can believe.”

Abby lifts her chin, a knot forming in the back of her throat, “He hates himself for it. For what it did to Octavia. Bellamy. Even Clarke.”

“And how it affected your relationship,” Vera responds softly, “your engagement.”

Abby stills, her ponytail suddenly too tight. She doesn’t want to make this about them, when it so clearly was not. She opens her mouth to speak but it comes out more like a breath, “He just got you back.”

“He just got _you back too_ ,” Vera replies.

They listen to the air turn on, the curtains flow softly against the wall, creating soft shadows on their skin.

“Abby _you_ are their constant,” Vera begins, “not just Marcus. This unit, this family …” she inches her hand over the bed sheets to reach for Abby’s, “centers on you. You are the pillars that keep them up.”

Abby begins to shake her head, disagreeing, fire burning in her throat and behind her eyes, as tears begin to swell in them. “I’m not that strong,” she bites her quivering lip, “please don’t ask me to be that strong.”

“Darling,” Vera covers their held hands with her other palm, “it’s not something you can get rid of. It radiates off you.”

“Not for all of them Vera,” Abby clarifies softly, “not after this. Not so soon. Marcus and I are like broken shards of glass. Barely glued together, not perfect, too rough.”

Counter to Abby’s tone, Vera smiles, “You mean you’re _stained glass_.”

There’s a pause in the room, a silence, as Vera’s words settle with Abby.

“No,” Abby disagrees a single tear running down her cheek, “stained glass is beautiful, it’s crafted, it’s-”

“Made of broken pieces that once were whole. It’s created to form a more precious story from its broken pieces. It _acknowledges_ its past. Most importantly, it lets the light from within out.”

Vera lifts her hand to wipe Abby’s wet cheek.

“We often think we need someone or something to let light in. Like that’s the only way we’ll find our way out when we are stuck in the dark. We fail to remember that we hold the brightest light inside of us.”

Vera cups Abby’s cheek, “And you my dear, don’t need to show Marcus he can find the light. You need to show him he _already_ _has it_.”

Abby nods her eyelids fluttering closed, her heart beating wildly.

“The thing about _your_ light,” Vera smiles, “is that it’s blinding.”

Abby open’s her eyes enough to see Vera as a blur through her tears.

“And that’s precisely why you are strong enough. When they get back, I don’t want them to be waiting, watching, for the inevitable to happen. I want to see them smile, walk in the garden, laugh.”

“Okay,” Abby responds, shaking her head up and down, clasping Vera’s hand in hers tightly, “Okay.”

Both, Vera and Abby let the conversation end with the feeling that it was all going to be alright. That when the kids and Marcus came back through that door, a different energy would emulate, even if the circumstances had not changed. Vera simply wanted to be surrounded with the joy and love of her family, for as long as she could.

* * *

True to Vera’s wish, maybe a similar conversation had been made during Marcus and the kids venture to get food. When they returned, they did so with every intention of taking Vera out to the garden. Together they picked several flowers, and made an assortment that had quite literally a different flower for each person.

Marcus was the only one who couldn’t fully shake himself of that days earlier aura. He tried hard, but every now and then, Abby could see a shadow over his irises as he watched Octavia hand his mother flower after flower.

When the time came that night for everyone to head back to the hotel, Marcus refused, once again.

“Marcus,” Vera pleaded, “I love you. But you need a bath and a decent bed for your back, for at least one night.”

“I can take a shower and come back-”

“No I’m not asking you anymore,” Vera told him in a stern voice, “you will make me happy if you please just get one nights rest.”

“You’re not going to win this one mom,” Marcus shook his head irritated.

“Fine then do me a favor,” Vera requested.

“Okay,” he agreed quickly, “what?”

“Go home and bring me your copy of _Bleak House_. It’s still in your bookshelf, or one of the book shelves at home.”

Marcus is taken aback by many things. One, being her request in general. Two, the realization that his childhood home was literally a couple of miles from here. Three, he hadn’t stepped foot in that home for more than twenty years, and now he was being tasked with facing every image he resented for those same years.

“I - Why?” Marcus stuttered.

Vera answers him confidently, “I want Bellamy to have it. You can take Abby to help you find it.”

* * *

The rental car Octavia used to pick up Abby and Clarke, was the same one Marcus and Abby slid into late that night. They smelled like the citrus shampoo provided by the hotel, and it mixed nicely with the wood tones that surrounded Mecha Park. Both of them clad in athleisure, sitting in silence as Marcus began driving them away from the hotel site and to his childhood home.

Abby didn’t want to mention that he was driving drastically over the speed limit. There were no highways in Mecha Park, no shining bright lights to assist them whichever way they were going. All that was visible to them was maximum forty feet in front of the cars headlights. Abby caught sight of a sign that warned them to watch out for crossing deer, and looked over to see if maybe that would make Marcus slow down, but it halted nothing.

In all honesty, Abby had forgotten that _Eden Care_ and his old home were located in generally the same area. It didn’t seem likely that such a beautiful retirement home would exist in the small town Marcus wished so badly to leave. It was then that she realized Mecha Park wasn’t a terrible place, it was just small. Not geographically she noted, they’d been driving for a good five minutes, and had yet to reach the town centre.

Abby looked over at Marcus, his eyes focused on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tight, turning his knuckles white. The engine roared to life everytime he pressed down harder, as if they weren’t already going 90 mph in a 60 mph zone.

She felt her heart leap when he swerved to the left, dodging a small pothole, and then continued on. He hadn’t said a word since he their departure from the hotel. Even then, he hadn’t spoken much either as they dressed in the quiet cold room.

“Marcus,” Abby said lowly, swallowing down the nervous feeling rising up through her stomach. The same feeling from earlier that morning.

“Marcus pull over,” Abby said roughly this time, clutching onto the door handle, preparing to unbuckle her seatbelt.

Marcus looked over at her, not understanding her sudden need to stop, he just wanted to get to the house, get out, and head back to his mother, “What, why?”

“Pull the damn car over unless you want me to vomit right here,” Abby hissed clutching her abdomen.

The brakes screeched as he pulled off the side to one of the empty fields. Abby shoved her door open, and made it barely three steps before she felt the contents of her stomach come out. It wasn’t a lot, mostly water, but she hated the feeling of throwing up. She stayed bent at the waist for a while, welcoming the feeling of his hand rubbing a small circle on her back, his other helping keep hair away from her face.

“Are you alright?” Marcus murmured.

Abby nodded, catching her breath, “My body’s probably reacting to all the emotional stress.”

“My driving wasn’t helping either,” he added, “I’m sorry.”

Marcus watches as Abby stands straight, her hands at her hips. She’s assessing herself, trying to believe her earlier diagnosis. He walks back to the car and grabs a water bottle one of the kids had probably left earlier, and hands it to her.

“Thank you,” Abby whispers, taking it from him and turning to rinse her mouth out.

The long blades of thread grass tickle their legs as a rush of wind surrounds them. Marcus looks up at the moon, hiding behind some clouds, before making itself known once again. The stars stare down at him, and it’s like he’s a boy again. There was always something different about the night sky in Mecha Park. Something that made it seem more monumental than it had been to him.

Marcus felt his hands curl into fists, as they lay at his side.

“There’s a whole field at your disposal,” Abby suddenly tells him, holding the plastic bottle in both her hands. His eyes flash to meet hers in the blue night. The moon makes her hair and eyes shine, and she’s looking back at him unafraid.

“Okay?” Marcus asks confused, his voice barely audible.

Abby looks down at his clenched fists and uptight shoulders.

“Scream,” Abby tells hims cooly, taking a small step forward, motioning to the open field in front of them.

Marcus laughs bitterly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You have hardly spoken at all today. To me, to anyone. You’re angry,” Abby begins to explain.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not angry with you,” Marcus interupts her. He runs both his hands through his hair, turning to give Abby his back. He holds his palms there against the back of his head, breathing deeply, biting his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it from shaking.

Abby holds her breath, allowing him the space he needs, “I didn’t mean with me.”

Marcus lets his shoulders fall a little, still unable to face Abby. He let’s the events of the past two weeks echo in his mind. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have both his mother and Abby alive at the same time in his life.

“It’s not fair,” Marcus croaks, his hands covering his face. He fights the urge to dig his nails into the skin of his own cheeks. “It’s not fair,” he repeats, this time with some fervor in his voice.

Then Abby accidentally crumples the water bottle in her hand, when she hears the raw loud verbatim of his voice yell violently into the night sky. She watches as his arms fall at his sides, but his hands never loosen from their fists when he lets out another scream. Then another, and another.

Marcus grips the back of his neck, as tears fall down his face, and he tries to stop the way his shoulders are shaking uncontrollably from his sobs. He wipes at his tears furiously, but more slip down his cheeks replacing the ones he’s cleaned. He flinches when he feels her hands as his back, not expecting the touch. But Abby wraps her arms around his front, and lets her forehead lay against the start of his spine. Marcus lets his shoulders fall to hold her arms in place, allowing himself to close his eyes, and let Abby calm his breath.

They stand still for a good five minutes, letting the wind rustle the grass around them, and welcome the light from the moon against their bodies. Finally, Marcus lifts one of Abby’s hands, kissing it before he leads them back to the car.

* * *

Marcus holds his breath as the sight of the small light blue wooden house appears before him. The porch light on, illuminating the old wooden swing he installed for his mother at fifteen years old with the help of a neighbor. The yard was mown, the grass still green. But his mothers’ garden usually filled with flowers had been replaced by bushes. He remembered the gardener telling him they were easier to manage with the bi-weekly visits to keep the property nice.

“Do you have a key?” Abby asks as they walk up the creaky porch steps to the door.

Her fingers feel the smooth wood of the swing, and she gently pushes it back and forth. When she gets no response, she turns to find Marcus squatted on the ground. He’s lifted up the welcome mat, searching the ground until he finds the key and stands, holding it valiantly in his hand.

“Well that’s safe,” Abby murmurs.

“Small town,” Marcus tells her as he sticks the key in the door knob, “you kind of build a trust for one another.”

“Mmm,” Abby hums, as he pushes open the door to a fresh house.

It smells like lemon, a bit of Windex, and other cleaning supplies. When the hallway is lit, Abby can’t find a speck of dust in the air. Nor on the mirror or foyer table.

“Good to know the people I hired to keep the house clean are doing just that,” Marcus whispers.

Abby patiently waits for Marcus to make the first move into the house. But even as she gently shuts the front door behind him, he has yet to take a step passed the foyer rug.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles making his way down the hall.

Abby follows, looking to her left to find the kitchen and a wooden circular kitchen table. No dining room in sight. She turns to the right to find the living room, only one couch and a loveseat. But the walls are filled with bookshelves, and she notices right away that the green lamp that is in the corner of the living room is identical to the one Marcus has in his study. In fact the whole decor of the cozy living room reminds her of his study.

She first heard the switch of the light, before she saw a glow appear from down the hall. It’s coming from the last room on the right. His room. Abby can see Marcus’s shadow on the floor, he could not yet find the strength to step in yet.

“My God,” Marcus murmurs when he hears Abby approach from behind him, “it’s exactly as I left it.”

Then he takes one tiny step in, looking at the posters of old movies on his wall, and athletes he must have admired. Abby doesn’t miss the one and only female poster he has in his room.

“You didn’t tell me you liked _Charmed_ ,” Abby teases.

A red flush crawls up his neck as he walks over to his large bookshelf, “I’m not feeding the joy your finding in this right now.”

Abby giggles, “I’m actually quite proud of young Marcus’s choice. If it was some swimsuit edition of _Sports Illustrated_ … well I’m not sure what I would have said.”

“Mmm maybe if you had been on the cover,” Marcus shrugs nonchalantly. This time Abby turns crimson.

The room was tight. Trying to squeeze a massive bookshelf, a decent sized desk, and a bed was marking it as close to maximum capacity as it could get. Medals hung from the wooden poles of his bed frame.

Abby finds a photo of him in his youth holding a solved Rubik’s cube with a large beaming grin on his face next to what Abby believed to be a teacher. The next photo was of him and his mother in front of a church when he was a small boy, a smile also on his lips. The last photo she sees on the wall is him with a group of people all holding medals.

“Debate team,” Marcus answers her unasked question, “super popular club to be a part of during high school.”

“I’d kiss you under the bleachers,” Abby turns to him, a playful smirk on her face.

Marcus chuckles, his eyes never stop scanning the titles of his bookshelf behind Abby, “I want to believe you.”

“So you cared about school in school,” Abby comments, looking at the photo one more time before heading to sit on the edge of his bed, “what’s wrong with that?”

Marcus squats down to look at the lower three shelves before saying, “Fine, I’d let you kiss me under the bleachers. But I wouldn’t write your government paper for you. Even if you let me grab ass.”

Abby looks for something to chuck at his head but comes out empty handed, “You’re unbelievable!” she laughs and feels better when he joins, his chuckles filling the room softly.

Abby stretches her legs and is able to touch his desk chair with her toes. There’s nothing on his desk, just a few random possessions. One being a mini batman action figure. 

“Found it,” she hears him say, pulling the book from its place, and walking over to her. He sits next to her, their arms touching as he hands her the copy.

“Why is it so lumpy?” Abby asks as she begins flipping through the pages. Then she finds that in almost every new chapter Marcus had saved a flower between the pages. “Oh wow,” Abby whispers, “you did this?”

Marcus nods silently.

“You softie,” Abby smiles as she marvels at the perfectly kept flowers, their colors still in tact.

“Might explain why my mom wants to give it to Bellamy,” Marcus states, “definitely aids the making of a lady killer.”

Abby takes her time in smacking his shoulder with the dense book, “Screaming has really awakened the sass in you.”

“Sass?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Sass?”

“I’m done with you,” Abby rolls her eyes pushing herself up from the bed to walk away. But Marcus grabs her hand and pulls her to stand between his legs. Abby looks up at him from under her eyelashes, her bare face beautiful to him even in the shitty lighting of his room. He tucks pieces of her hair behind her ear, then lets his hand fall to brush down her arm. But when he leans in to kiss her, she moves back.

“Vomit breath,” Abby murmurs, “let me go wash my teeth really quick.”

Marcus can’t help as he raises an eyebrow, “You brought your toothbrush and toothpaste?”

Abby shakes her head, “I have one of each in my bag that an Eden worker gave me earlier today.”

“That’s a loaded sentence,” Marcus inquires, sliding down his bed to stand in front of her, “you threw up earlier today too? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Abby reaches out to squeeze his arm, “I’m fine. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Next door,” he points to his left, but his eyes scan every feature on her face, looking for a sign she was not being honest.

Marcus watches as Abby makes her way out of his room, and hears her find the one bathroom he shared with his mother growing up. He takes a deep breath and jumps back on his bed, staring at all the belongings he’d forgotten were once his. He missed his books most of all, but he never believed he could ever step foot in this home. Which was ridiculous because there was going to come a point where he would have had to. And if he let himself think about it. This was exactly the scenario that would make him return home.

 _Fuck it all_ , Marcus growled in his head as he laid down, placing his hands behind his head staring up at the popcorn ceiling. His ankles hung off the end of his bed, because he outgrew the twin when he was twelve but they couldn’t afford to buy him another. Most nights he remembered falling asleep on the couch with the television on.

He heard the water in the bathroom turn off, and waited for Abby to come back. However, when he couldn’t hear her footsteps against the creaky floors he pushed himself to sit against his wooden headboard. She was staring at him from the doorway, leaning against it with crossed arms.

“So how many girls did you sneak in through that window?” Abby lifted her chin at the small window in between his bed and desk. She moved to take of her satchel and hung it on the same bed pole with his medals.

Marcus smiled at her, “A total amount of,” he lets the letter hang in the air, “zero.”

Abby walks over to him, and climbs the bed. She puts a leg on each side of his waist, “Liar.”

Marcus watches as she lifts a finger to trace over his eyebrows, down his nose, and to his lips. “I’m not lying. I don’t think I ever brought a girl in here. A twin bed doesn’t exactly scream make out session, don’t you think?”

Abby laughs gently, “I don’t know, it’s not turning me off right now.”

“That’s cause you still fit on it!” he jokes and a huge grin over takes his face, and to her own reluctance, one overtakes Abby’s as well.

“Wow, I think you just missed an opportunity to kiss a girl in this bedroom for the first time _ever_ ,” Abby told him beginning to lift herself up and out of his lap.

But Marcus grabs a hold of her elbows, pulling her down to him roughly.

“Not a chance,” he murmurs before curling his hand on the back of her head and bringing her forward to meet his lips.

Marcus feels guilty for feeling good as he lifts his knees to scoot her closer. Abby’s bottom practically on his stomach. Her hands fall to grip his shoulders, digging into the deep knots he’s created over the past few days. He knows he should head back to his mother, and he wants to. But for this moment, he didn’t have to think with Abby straddling him. He didn’t have to think about when it was gonna happen, or all the planning that would have to take place after. Hell, he didn’t have to think about how _he_ was going to cope, and how that would affect his children and Abby.

He just wanted to focus on Abby. He wanted to narrow in on the way their bare legs warmed up, as they rubbed against one another. The way her chest heaved when he pulled the soft cotton t-shirt off her, and unclipped her bra without hesitance. He wanted to focus on the way her nails dug into his bare chest, when he found a spot above her breast and was set on leaving a mark.

Marcus could feel the same pent up anger and frustration from when he screamed in the open field earlier that night being released. He could feel it in the way he held Abby’s hips tightly in his hands, more than sure his thumb would leave bruises on the spot where her bone protruded her skin. He could feel it in the way she could barely balance above him, as he pulled down her track shorts and underwear.

But she didn’t stop him. She didn’t tell him it hurt. She met him at the same force and pace, rocking above him, making the bed creak underneath them. Her hands clutched the wooden poles, as droplets of sweat began to accumulate at the back of her neck. Although she tried to show him, prove to him, that he could let go. As he had asked her to, he was still holding back.

“I won’t break,” Abby whispers.

“Abby,” Marcus shakes his head side to side.

But she looks down at him, and holds his face in between both her hands, their eyes piercing into eachothers, “It’s okay. _Let go_. I won’t break.”

Marcus inhales one short breath, taking her words for what they were. Honest. Then he grabs her close to him, and flips her until she is the one on her back. Abby’s head falls back against the bed, and her back arches when she feels both his arms wrap around her waist, pulling their hips flush against one another.

“I love you,” Marcus murmurs into her neck, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Abby is able to respond between breaths.

The both of them couldn’t remember the exact moment their bodies fell back against each other in exhaustion. After the room had been filled with more than a few loud groans. But Abby ran her finger up and down Marcus’s spine, as he laid atop her catching his breath. Somehow Marcus was able to pull the blanket over them and he decided that he and Abby could sleep there for the night. Even if his toes were hanging off the bed.

* * *

Marcus’s eyes flutter open the next morning, and it takes him a moment to remember exactly where he fell asleep last night. And when he sees chocolate orbs staring back at him, _who_ he fell asleep next to last night. They’ve made a cocoon of warmth underneath the bed sheets, and he feels the soft skin of Abby’s thighs against his finger tips.

He wants to speak, but has nothing to say. What could he, when the only girl he’d ever brought, kissed, and had sex with in this room, was _her_. It was something to have her in his bed back home, but this somehow meant more to him. This was the part of himself he hid … from everyone. And now here she was in the middle of it. Looking up at him with something to say on the tip of her tongue.

“Let’s get married,” Abby tells him, a small smile on her face.

Marcus’s eyes go wide, not expecting such a blunt statement in the morning. “I-” he tries to find words to explain his feelings, but instead settles on, “yes.”

“Tomorrow,” Abby adds, “I want to marry you tomorrow. With your mom and the kids there.”

Marcus feels his heart beating so fast, he’s sure it’s about to explode out of his chest. “We won’t have enough time to plan. To give you the wedding you deserve.”

“This is the wedding I want,” Abby tells him sternly.

“Abby,” Marcus shakes his head side to side unbelieving, “are you sure?”

And it’s more than asking her about the antics of the wedding. He’s asking her if she’s sure about _him_.

“Fucking marry me you idiot,” she giggles, and before he can respond, she pulls him in to kiss her.

“Okay I’ll marry you,” he smiles against her lips, “God of course I’ll marry you.”

* * *

They do get married the next day. Even if Octavia and Clarke freak out that they wouldn’t be able to find Abby a wedding dress in time. But Abby already knew which dress she was going to wear. The same white one from the night they met at the museum. So Marcus only thought it was right to wear the same suit from that night as well.

Jackson, with the help of Juliet, shipped Abby’s engagement ring, dress, and other necessities such as matching heels, jewelry, and Marcus’s clothing, overnight to arrive by morning. A friend of Vera’s was a jeweler, and they were able to have wedding bands within hours.

That morning the sun shined behind stratus clouds, and the breeze made its way through the garden. It was intimate, and shorter than anyone would have ever thought, and absolutely perfect. Abby and Marcus stood hand in hand, in the middle of the array of roses, surrounded by people they loved.

As Marcus slipped the delicate wedding band on Abby’s finger, he realized that he was strong enough … or simply _enough_ to be Abby’s husband. If he didn’t think he could be, he wouldn’t be standing there in front of her, promising to love her until death do they part. It lifted his chest up with pride, and to his greatest surprise the biggest _fuck you_ he’d ever thought.

A huge _fuck you_ to himself, for never believing that he could have this moment so genuinely one day. A massive _fuck you_ to himself for proving every misconstrued notion he ever had of himself wrong. And the biggest _fuck you_ to the Marcus who talked to himself so negatively every damn day since he left Mecha Park.

It wasn’t as though every second from then on would be perfect, because in fact in the next week it would be far from perfect. But in this moment in time, when Abby slipped a wedding band on his finger, and _chose him_. He finally saw himself for who he really was.

A father.

A husband.

A son.

And fuck all who tried to make him believe otherwise.

* * *

Vera was happy. Happy and grateful when she moved along. And somehow because everyone knew this, it made the pain easier. Not fully, but a bit. Vera was loved, and she knew she was loved. But most importantly, she knew the family, _her family_ , that she left behind would always have love for one another. No matter the lengths or distance life placed on them.

Vera also knew something before Abby did. But it wasn’t hers to share. Just another gift she had been given before she was gone.

So when weeks had passed, and Abby looked down at the pregnancy test in her hand. She couldn’t even believe to wonder _how_. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to ask all the medical questions, and for once in her life Abby gave into fate. And she had her quiet moment with fate before Marcus walked in letting her know the movers would be arriving at noon.

Abby didn’t talk when she turned and handed him the test. Or when he lifted her off her feet, and the biggest smile she had ever seen crossed his face. But because he was Marcus, he gently put her back down, and held her crying face in his hands.

“You don’t have to do this,” he assured her, confronting all the questions that were to come about her age and health of the baby, “I will stand by you no matter what you decide.”

But Abby held his hand against her cheek, trying in vain to find any amount of words that could express what she was feeling. But instead, she lifted herself up on her toes, and brought his face down to hers, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Marcus wiped her tears as he kissed her back, and then held her tightly in his arms. One hand threading in her loose locks, the other curling around her shoulders. Abby clutched onto his shirt, digging her nose into his chest, inhaling the smell that would follow her forever.

It marked a moment of impact and a start of a path they were headed down together.


	23. Epilogue

**_Four Years Later_ **

Marcus watches the street sign turn green, and the signal of a walking man flashes bright white. Before the first person takes a step on the cross walk, he sees a rainbow of color take off. He swears he only let go of her hand for half a second.

“Nena!” Marcus scolds her, and she stops abruptly. One yellow shoe in the road, and the other barely on the cement. Her ponytail flails wildly as she turns to him with a nervous look on her face.

“Come here,” he tells her sternly, as people fail at showing the same disappointment. Instead, they smile down at the small girl as they continue their commute. She was cute, they all knew it, and Marcus knew it best.

She chose her own outfit this morning. Which is why she could not be missed by any driver or pedestrian, and most definitely why Abby would tease him later for giving in. She had a hot pink long sleeve under her denim dress, with rainbow leggings, and yellow converse. She opted out of wearing her silver cat ears, and instead chose a fluffy scrunchie.

She approached him slowly at the corner of the street, looking down at her shoes, and pointing her toes inward like she did when she knew she was in trouble. She held her hands together and pouted, “Just say it.”

Marcus bent down to be at eye level with her, “Say what?” He couldn’t help but ask, watching as her cheeks flushed pink against her fair skin. The main attribute she acquired from him. Because her golden loose curls, were definitely from her mom.

“ _Verena Louise Kane,_ ” she sighs, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Her squeaky voice sounding out her full name, which is always used on her when she does something she’s not supposed to do, melts his heart. Before she can say more he lifts her up onto his hip, and jogs them over the crosswalk with seven seconds to go.

“You always wait for me to cross the street, okay?” Marcus tells her, and she looks at him with big almond shaped eyes the color of espresso beans.

“Okay,” she agrees, “I’m sorry,” and then she pulls his face in with her small hands to kiss his cheek.

They finally arrive at the campus grounds and Verena squirms to get down from Marcus’s hip.

“Where’s mamas?” She asks him, a few steps in front, having no clue where she was walking, but always leading the charge.

“Right now she’s teaching,” he tells her, watching as she chooses to go through and under all the metal bike racks, and come out valiant at the end.

“Can we see mamas?” She asks him, stepping up to an elevated portion of land. Before she begins walking the edge, she instinctively reaches out for his hand, and he holds it, giving her support.

“That’s where we’re going. But we have to be really quiet when we walk inside the classroom,” Marcus explains as she jumps off the foot tall ledge, keeping his hand in hers. She raises their linked hands above her head and begins twirling herself.

“Why?” Verena lifts her eyebrow just enough for him notice. Then she stops spinning herself in circles, wobbling a little due to dizziness.

Marcus leads them inside one of the natural science buildings, “Because mamas will be speaking to all her students,” he answers, “and they need to pay attention to what she’s saying. So if we make a lot of noise,” he begins to whisper as he opens the door to one of the large lecture halls, stadium seating for all the students on their laptops, “we’ll get in big trou-“

“MAMAS,” Verena squeals the moment she catches sight of Abby at the bottom of the auditorium by the projector.

The entire collection of students turns to face them at the top of the stairs.

Abby is interrupted mid-sentence and turns from facing the power point she has projected. She immediately catches the small girl bouncing her way down the auditorium steps. Her eyes flicker to Marcus who simply shrugs and mouths with exasperation, “I tried!”

Without any hesitance Abby pulls Verena up to her hip the second she’s in close enough distance.

“Hi baby,” she kisses her daughters forehead, already subconsciously pushing back the rogue curls that weren’t held down by hairspray for her ponytail. And immediately she thinks, _well_ _at least he tried hairspray this time._

Abby turns to the class, “We’ll catch up next time, don’t forget to turn in your paper Sunday night. Have a good weekend.”

A lone, “Thanks little Kane!” starts a string of gratitudes, as the student’s pick up their belongings. Consequently, Verena gets the shy bug and hides her face in the crook of her mothers neck. Marcus waits at the top of the stairs for all the students to leave. His eyes narrowing in as one particular boy approaches Abby, his backpack only hanging from one shoulder.

“So Dr. K,” the young man begins.

Abby adjusts Verena on her hip, when she replies, “Yes, Daniel?”

Verena lifts her head to observe the nervous boy.

“Wow super cute kid by the way,” he tells them.

Abby barely smiles, but Verena answers confidently, “Thanks!”

“I wanted to talk to you about that research paper due Sunday?” he begins.

“Okay, what about it?” she asks him.

“I was wondering if I could have and extension until Wednesday? There’s this music festival this weekend and I’m covering it for the school newspaper.” Daniel was already intimidated to ask for an extension on his research paper. But now it felt twice as hard with a pair of matching eyes looking back at him.

“Oh a music festival? Exciting,” Abby lifts the ends of her mouth into a small smirk.

“Yeah, and I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to dedicate to both of them equally.”

Marcus has started walking down the steps, and when he’s about halfway, he can hear the boys request and tries really hard not to chuckle out loud.

“Daniel, is the due date of this paper on the syllabus?” Abby asks him dryly.

“Yes,” he answers.

“And when did you get this syllabus?”

Daniel catches on to where the conversation is leading. He turns his head, “Did I mention she’s super cute?”

Verena sighs, “You said that already.”

“No extension,” Abby tells him finally, “have a nice weekend!”

Marcus pats Daniels shoulder as he passes by him defeated. Abby looks at Verena, in all her bright colors.

“Wow Nena,” she says in a higher pitched voice, “you look so colorful today!”

“I chose it _all_ myself!” Verena smiles brightly.

“Oh, daddy let you pick what to wear today huh?”

She nods her head rapidly up and down, no less excited.

“Of course he did,” Abby replies laughing, looking at Marcus as he closes the space between them.

Marcus pulls Abby in by the side of her waist not occupied by their child, and kisses her softly. When he pulls away, he remembers he’ll never get tired of this image. Abby, his wife, and Verena, their daughter, together, and with him.

Abby finds a different colored strand of hair in Verena’s ponytail, and then another, and one more, and looks at Marcus.

“Marcus, why is my daughters hair pink?” Abby’s eyes go a little wide, “No wait,” she shakes her head, “ _How_?”

Marcus chuckles, “Relax it’s not permanent.”

Abby lifts her eyebrow skeptical.

“Well the lady said it wasn’t,” Marcus corrected himself.

Abby twirls the pink strands of hair around her fingers, staring at him without saying anything. He knew she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced.

“She wanted pink hair,” Marcus tried explaining in a weak tone, “like full pink hair. She saw a girl on the street, and kept asking me.”

“She had super cool hair mama,” Verena smiled, “but daddy said I could only get _parts_ of my hair pink.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have chosen to teach afternoon classes this semester,” Abby rolled her eyes, “leaves you two alone for too long.”

“You can get pink hair too!” Verena squeals.

Marcus bursts out laughing, as Abby gently puts Verena down to pack up her stuff. Once Abby stuck her laptop in her bag, she grabbed Verena’s hand. And watched as her daughter took Marcus’s hand too.

“Swing!” Verena requested.

And without a doubt, Marcus and Abby counted down from three, and swung their daughter forward on one.

* * *

**_Eleven Years Later_ **

The watching room is cramped, per usual. It’s useless to be there if you don’t have a front row spot against the large window pane, like Abby did _every_ class. Whether it was her _don’t fuck with me_ attitude, or elbows, or on the opposite end of the spectrum -- charm for being all but five foot three. She leaned against the glass, her chin in the palm of her hand, watching as Verena learned the minute long routine.

Verena was taller now. About three inches taller than her own mother, which was something that now she and Marcus picked on her for. Purposefully having conversations over Abby’s head as if she wasn’t standing in between them while waiting to be seated at a restaurant, or in line at the grocery store, or a movie theater.

Verena was silly with the people she loved, and who she felt comfortable around. But in new settings she was the shyest, most soft-spoken person in the room. It didn’t stop her from asking for what she wanted, and giving her all. But like her father, when in the limelight, she’d rather it was just for her talent.

“I’m surprised she picked up that switch so quickly,” a mom to Abby’s right commented with a grimace that she tried to pull off as a smirk. There was definitely some condescending tone laced somewhere in there.

“I’m not,” Abby replied with a smile.

God, it was going to be a long two hours.

With twenty minutes to go, the instructor started picking dancers to perform solo. Naturally, Verena was picked, and she immediately turned to the window and faked fainting in annoyance to her mom. Earning Abby’s signature eye roll, and then she twirled back around to grab her water bottle and re-hydrate.

The room suddenly got quiet, and Abby felt bodies shifting, until familiar hands found their spot on the small of her back. She turned her head to the side, looking up to find the face she had loved for fifteen long years now. His salt and pepper hair and matching beard unmistakeable. The laugh lines around his mouth and on the sides of his eyes more evident. But he still loomed over her, and kissed her forehead.

“Has she gone yet?” he asked, as they both faced the window, his hands now holding her soft waist.

“No,”Abby shakes her head, “you’re just in time. Where did you drop-”

But Abby’s question is interrupted by a series of whispers and low angry grumbles. The crowd once again shifting around them. Marcus’s face turns a bashful red.

“They wanted to see her dance,” he explained his shoulders falling.

“You’ve gone soft,” Abby fully turned to him.

“As I should,” he lowly commented.

Abby lifts herself up on her tiptoes to peck his lips before she hears, “Your glare isn’t gonna make us leave Linda. We just got off a fourteen hour flight alright?”

Octavia is the first face she sees. Her hair short now, same green eyes. Navy cargo pants, black boots, tourist t-shirt from Venice (this time the city in Italy), and a leather jacket. Abby’s enveloped in a hug that presses her tightly against the glass. But her three other kids had left together on a trip across Europe almost two weeks ago so she invites the suffocation of love.

“Her name was definitely not Linda,” a voice comments deeply from behind her. Bellamy leans over Octavia who hasn’t let go of Abby, and kisses her head.

“I’m not even gonna try to find you,” Clarke groans. Abby sees her hand waving from somewhere behind Bellamy’s broad shoulders. She reaches out to grab Clarke’s hand with her own, and squeezes it briefly before falling back on her heels.

“You guys must be exhausted,” Abby comments, Octavia still in her arms, not lifting her face from the crook of Abby’s neck, but looking back at her father and Bellamy. Finally, Bellamy grabs Clarke’s wrist and pulls her through two stubborn mom’s trying to create a barrier. He pushes Clarke past him and next to Octavia, and Abby, now in the front row of the glass pane.

Clarke hugs Abby from the side not occupied by Octavia, and Marcus says, “Yeah, it’s not like I picked you up from the airport or anything.”

“You got your hugs, don’t be rude,” Octavia replies and Bellamy pats his fathers’ shoulder.

“Hey she’s standing up!” Clarke snaps, and they all let the subject go before turning to face the studio.

Verena doesn’t look back at her parents, knowing it will only make her more nervous, even though she’d done this a million times before. Not this exact dance, but the motions of class, and solos at the end. The music starts, and her brain turns off.

“Do you think she’ll cry?” Bellamy murmurs.

“Bell,” Octavia reaches behind her to swat him, her eyes never leaving Verena as she continues the modern routine. The music was emotional, per usual for this type of dance.

 

_But there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark_

_You should know you're beautiful just the way you are_

_And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart_

_No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful_

 

Abby watches as her youngest daughter performs with such raw emotions, “Yes she is, _do not_ make her feel bad about it.”

“ _What!_ I would never, that’s when she does her best,” Bellamy defends himself.

He looks over at Marcus, who has crossed his arms over his chest, and is staring straight ahead, watching intently as Verena hits the halfway mark of the routine.

“Dad’s gonna cry too,” Bell mumbles down in between Clarke and Octavia.

“Bell _shut up!_ ” Clarke and Octavia respond.

They _all_ watch as the song clip comes to its final moves.

 

_No better you than the you that you are_

_No better life than the life we're living_

_No better time for your shine, you're a star_

_Oh, you're beautiful, oh, you're beautiful_

 

Every person in the watching room and studio alike is silent, unmoving, in awe. Verena finishes the routine with multiple fouettes, and falls gracefully to the ground, tears running down the sides of her face. Everyone in the studio is still shocked by the powerful performance, all learned within less than a two hour time frame no less.

“Whose kid is that?” a dad asks out loud in the quiet watching room.

All five of them say, “Ours.”

Then, just as she does, Verena pushes herself up, wipes her face, and turns with a big smile to who she thought was only her mom. But upon seeing the faces of her entire family, she squeals, and runs to the door. Not caring about rules, she opens it, letting her siblings into the studio.

“You fucking killed it V!” Octavia tells her, as Verena jumps up to wrap her legs around Octavia’s waist, making her stumble backwards with a laugh.

“Octavia!” Abby and Bellamy scold her.

“Shit, sorry!” Octavia’s eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” Clarke and Marcus cover their face.

After Verena slips off Octavia, she turns to Clarke and does the same thing, this time Clarke uses Bellamy as a beam of support to hold her sister up. When Verena slides off Clarke, Bellamy grabs her without a word lifting her up in a tight hug.

“You made dad cry,” Bellamy tells her as he spins her around twice, before setting her down.

“Dad always cries at modern,” Verena quips, walking over to hug Marcus. He simply shrugs, and kisses her temple.

“Is that what your competing with?” Clarke asks.

“Actually, I was thinking I’d compete with hip-hop,” she tells them.

Marcus tries his best not to tense in his daughters arms, “Isn’t there a lot of body rolls in hip-hop? Are you sure?”

“Marcus!” Abby shoves him lightly.

“Dad!” the other three groan.

* * *

Later that evening, after eating dinner at the pizzeria nearby. They journey to the bayside on foot. Verena on Bellamy’s back, although he’s no longer that young of a man he’s still willing to carry his baby sister as far as she wants. Abby and Marcus hold hands, walking a few feet behind the group. Watching as Octavia and Clarke share things on their phones.

Everything had changed, and yet nothing had.

They arrive to where the gravel path meets the sand, and all take off their shoes. Feeling the cool grains underneath their feet and between their toes. The spring air still fresh against their skin, and the water far from warm.

Abby can see small ships sailing the bay and birds flying over the metal bridge. The white noise of water flowing to and from the land. A rush of wind blows her hair in front of her face, and she can see the grey streaks she gave up on coloring surround her. She pulls the cashmere cream cardigan around her tightly, and turns to face Marcus at her back.

When Abby turns to him, in her bare feet and loose boyfriend jeans, Marcus watches as the wind carries the hair in front of her face away from her. The honey in her hair mixed with time, and the lines of her face created by every laugh, cry, and yell, make him pause.

Through it all, they were there, mere feet away from each other, but many years older.

Abby watched him observe her. Even after all this time, he still paid attention. He always had, and maybe that’s why they fell in love. Of all the reasons she loved him -- she could never pinpoint how _exactly_ she fell in love with him. Abby supposed it started with comfort. She would never forget how easy it felt to be around him. The idea of soulmate’s sounded cheesy, plain and simple. But, they knew no matter what life they lived, and where, somehow their spirits would find the other.

“I’m still out of your league, you know that right?” Abby teased him, stepping closer, until the tips of her toes laid atop his.

Marcus chuckled, “Always will be.”

Abby cupped his cheek with her hand, and followed it as it fell down to his heart. Marcus lifted her dainty hand in his, and kissed her palm, before turning her to face the ocean and their children. He stepped forward, bringing her back to rest against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Off in the distance Verena executed an aerial, having her two sisters capture it with their phones. But true to who they all were, Marcus met Bellamy’s eye across the sand. His sons' hands were shoved in his pockets, a wallflower, always. Bellamy gave one small nod. A small smile spreading across his face, and in that moment Marcus felt at peace.

Then within a moments notice, he watched as Verena kicked cold water with her toes at Bellamy before sprinting away. In seconds of recovery he chased after her. Octavia and Clarke tried dodging the small water war, but Verena and Bellamy were running in circles around them.

“Think we still stand a chance?” Marcus murmured down in Abby’s ear.

Abby let a low laugh rumbled from deep within her, “Oh honey, she’s been letting us win since she was a child.”

Marcus curls down more, his chin on her shoulder. Abby feels the echo of his own laughter against her back and huddles further into him.

“I am so grateful for you,” he whispers, “everyday.”

Abby turns her head, until their noses are mere centimeters a part.

“I’m here,” she tells him softly. Then Abby leans in to brush her lips against his before pulling away enough to repeat, “I’m here.”

 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Mentioned: Scars To Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara
> 
> I can't express what an absolute ride this has been to write. I am extremely sad to see this AU world come to a close. Also, I'm amazed that I did finish this huge multi-chapter fic! (Shout out to those special friends for being so supportive during the writing process and dealing with my midnight screams! I am so thankful for you.) 
> 
> Also, I am so happy for those of you who have enjoyed this story and shared that excitement with me! 
> 
> Like all endings, I know that what I had in mind (and ended up writing) probably didn't meet all wishes and expectations for how the story should finish. I'm also aware of the sensitive subjects I write about. I genuinely try to approach them from a place of care, and never want to treat them as a means to an end.
> 
> All in all, I am so grateful for all of you who even took the time to read this fic. I say that every time I update, but I mean it! Kabby fam is amazing. 
> 
> Please fill free to leave any final flailings, comments, or kudos. They are always so appreciated and I will try and respond to them because this story is done y'all! Finished! And we still have a whole lotta season 5 to look forward to and get inspired by! 
> 
> Thank you so much once again!  
> (I really hope you liked the last few chapters.)


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